


From Famine to Feast

by songhay



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Complete, F/M, Post-Endgame, Romance, Steggy Positivity Week 2018, Steggy Week 2019, peggy and steve reunite, steggyweek2k19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-07 21:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19858591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songhay/pseuds/songhay
Summary: In Agent Carter, Season 2, Episode 7, Jarvis says to Peggy, "You have rather gone from famine to feast vis-a-vis two quality suitors." He made that comment in reference to Sousa and Dr. Wilkes. What if, at the end of Avengers: Endgame, Steve goes back in time to when Peggy and Daniel were just beginning to explore their feelings for each other--creating a different type of "from famine to feast" for Peggy?What will Peggy do?What will Steve?





	1. Contemplating the Past, Envisioning the Future

**Author's Note:**

  * For [javajunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/javajunkie/gifts).



> Fair warnings:  
> I'm a huge Steggy fan, and have written fanfiction before. However, I've never written this couple. Nor do I consider myself an expert on all things Agent Carter and Captain America. I had an urge to explore the what if posed in the summary. A character piece, perhaps, more so than a time piece. Or maybe it's my personal indulgence to see where my thoughts take me with the idea of Peggy being in a new relationship with Daniel when Steve returns home.
> 
> This story is gifted to Javajunkie who wrote "I'll Be Seeing You." https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826845/chapters/46947547 She has a very similar story and encouraged me, who thought along the same lines, to pen my own story. So, this is for Javajunkie for being so cool and for writing an enjoyable story. Check it out.

Steve stretched his long legs out in front of him. After all these years, sometimes, he still marveled at how much his body had changed since the serum. Back then, Dr. Erskine’s formula had fallen into the realm of fantasy, even science fiction. After all that Steve had seen and done, the injection that turned him from a gasping asthmatic fighting bullies in alleys, and losing miserably, to a man capable of wielding a god’s hammer in a battle against the biggest bully he’d ever met, Dr. Erskine's formula seemed that much more amazing in 2023.

How could it not? It had saved his life countless times. More importantly, the serum had helped Steve save the lives of billions.

Digging his hand into his pants pocket, Steve found the one thing more miraculous than a 1941 Super-Soldier in the twenty-first century. He pulled it out—weathered from use, time, water, and ice. But it was still the most beautiful and, to Steve, valuable possession he would ever own. The nominal weight always felt the same in his large hands. But there were other kinds of weights that tugged on a man’s body, mind, and heart.

Loss.

Loneliness.

Love.

Regret.

But also hope mixed with a fair amount of fear.

As he’d done hundreds of times, likely thousands, the action long since rote, he flipped his father’s compass open. Steve couldn’t help it, he smiled. Seeing Peggy’s image, a young woman who would change the world in ways she couldn’t have imagined when she’d taken the picture, hadn’t always lifted his lips the way it did now.

There were nights, too many, when staring at her photo had brought tears, especially after his arrival in a world he didn’t know or understand, and after her death when she had been the one to leave him behind. Then there were times when he couldn’t bring himself to open the compass at all, cursing himself for not being able to return to her and his life and cursing her for moving on and growing old without him.

When he gazed at her picture now, though, he neither cried nor cursed. He did pray, however. His mother, God rest her soul, would be pleased he hadn’t forgotten how.

“Are you sure?”

Steve looked from his compass to the man sitting beside him on the bench, and then behind him to yet another miracle of modern technology. The mechanism had taken him and the Avengers through time and space. Soon, Steve would use it to return the Infinity Stones. He didn’t have to be the one to take up the mission. But Tony and Nat were gone, their lives sacrificed for the greater good. A part of Steve understood that kind of sacrifice. Yet, the more honest part of him did not.

“When I landed the Valkyrie in the water, Bucky, I thought I was ready to die for a cause greater than myself. I didn’t want to die, but I thought I was okay with it happening, you know?”

Bucky didn’t answer Steve’s rhetorical question. No more than Steve had answered Bucky’s very real question.

“If SHIELD hadn’t found me that would’ve been it. But they did find me . . . saved me, I guess.” He shrugged shoulders that never felt big enough to live up to expectations, even to live down to them when he’d been a dancing monkey. “I think Tony and Nat found a sort of peace in their sacrifices that they never had in life. I think, strangely, their sacrifices completed them. They went to their deaths willingly. Like I did, but not like me at all.”

Bucky reached over and fingered the edge of Steve’s compass, a gentleness he could only muster with one of his hands. “You’re still a punk, Stevie.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You died.” Bucky’s hand withdrew. “So did I. But we’re both here, breathing but not really living.”

“Yeah, I know that too.” Steve shoved the compass back into his pants pocket, trusting his faithful but broken compass would show him the way home. “Am I being selfish?”

“Yeah, but so what.” The same hand that had touched Steve’s watch with such reverence came slamming down onto his shoulder. “Being selfish isn’t always bad. Sometimes, it’s the right thing to do. You always do the right thing, Steve.”

He shook his head. “Not always. I left a life behind without even trying to save it. She asked for my coordinates. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No.”

“She wanted to find me a safe landing spot.” He shook his head again, recalling the eerie calm that had settled over him when he had made the decision to crash the plane in the water, seeing that as the only way to save lives. “I told her it was my choice to put the plane in the water. It was very similar to what she told me after your death. For me to respect the dignity of your choice. I knew Peggy would understand the reference.”

“You were asking her to let you go.”

“I should’ve given her the coordinates. I didn’t respect the dignity of her choice to do everything in her power to help me, even if it only resulted in her being able to retrieve my body for a proper burial. Peggy and the Howling Commandoes would’ve wanted to do right by me, but I took that choice away from them.”

They sat on the bench in silence, watching the sun crest the horizon—a tranquil orange-and-yellow.

“I guess you’re sure then.”

“As sure as you are that you won’t come with me. I wish you would.”

“Nah, believe it or not, I kinda like this time. There’s good I can do here. It won’t offset the bad I did as the Winter Soldier, but I gotta do something. Besides, I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Make sure you are.”

As much as Steve would miss Bucky, he felt better about leaving knowing, for his friends, it would be mere seconds, perhaps minutes for them while, if everything worked as Steve had prayed it would, he would have a lifetime of memories to share with Bucky, Sam, Bruce, and the others.

He would be an old man, compared to them. But Steve would rather be an old man who had lived a full and happy life than a young man full of regrets and questions of what-ifs.

_What if I told Peggy my coordinates and she and Howard found me--cold and hurt but alive, thanks to the serum?_

_What if I return and we do all the things our hearts and eyes promised each other, but the war prevented us from saying and acting on?_

_What if I don’t return to the past? Will I continue to fight endless battles? Will I eventually, finally, bury the past, the way I already buried Peggy, and get a real-life?_

“What if I’ve built it all up in my head? What if I’m wrong?”

“Maybe.”

Steve laughed. “That’s a horrible answer. Hell, it’s barely an answer at all. Yeah, maybe I’m going to drive myself crazy with what-ifs and self-doubt."

Bucky stretched, and Steve felt like doing the same. “I’m hungry. Let’s get breakfast.”

Steve was tempted to finish watching the sunrise and, to be honest, brood a little more on a decision that was made the moment Steve had seen first the picture of himself, the real Steve Rogers, in Peggy’s office at Camp Lehigh, and then the woman herself on the other side of what had to be a one-way wall mirror. He hadn’t known, of course, if the Avengers’ plan would succeed, when he and Tony had gone back to 1970. What he had known, however, was that his heart was still in the past. Still with Margaret “Peggy” Carter.

Even if going back didn’t result in a promised dance they both knew he would not be able to keep or in her deciding the unspoken feelings they had for each other during wartime did not extend to peacetime, Steve could never live with himself if he didn’t take a leap of faith. He’d crashed a plane into an ocean, fought aliens and gods, lived through the worse devastation known to Earth. Surely, Steven Grant Rogers could handle a trip to the past to woo and win his best girl, right?

Steve followed Bucky as he stood, getting in a good stretch on his way up. “Yeah, let’s get breakfast.”

For Steve, this could be the last meal he would share with his best friend for a very long time. He wouldn’t miss the opportunity. Not even for a twenty-first-century sunrise. And definitely not for another round of pointless brooding.

Steve pulled Bucky into a hug, missing him already.

“You’re a sap.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Tell, Peg I said hi.”

“I will.”

“And give her a kiss for me.”

“I’m not doing that.” Steve shoved a grinning Bucky away from him. “I’ll give her a kiss from me.”

“Like I said, you’re a punk.”

“Yeah, I love you too. Now, let’s eat. I have six stones to return and one Peggy Carter to win. I can’t do either on an empty stomach.”


	2. Strategy Then Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky told Steve he was "taking all of the stupid with you." Well, Steve is being very deliberate in how he plans to reenter Peggy's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all about Steve's preparation to return home and to be with Peggy. I wanted to show a thoughtful and strategic Steve Rogers who understands the impact of his return on Peggy and how terribly wrong it could all go if not handled with care.

“Will you require anything else, Mr. Buchanan?”

“No. You’ve been a great help, Mr. Lehman.” Steve smiled at the bank manager, grateful for his assistance but also hoping he would take the hint and leave him alone in the room.

The balding manager in a well-fitted suit bobbed his head at Steve in that way some people did when they looked at him with a mix of recognition and disbelief. Mr. Lehman hadn’t come right out, like many others since his return to a post-World War II America, and said who he looked like but couldn’t possibly be because, well, everyone knew Captain America had died in the North Atlantic, never found or heard from again.

In a way, the public was right. Captain America was dead. But Steve Rogers was quite alive—even if he’d had to adopt a new identity as Steven Buchanan.

“Yes, well, of course. I’ll leave you to your personal belongings.”

Personal belongings? Funny, when Steve was last in Brooklyn, he wouldn’t have been allowed one foot into this bank. He didn’t have two dimes to rub together, much less enough money to open an account. Now, in a suit nicer than the manager’s and a confidence earned on the gritty streets of Brooklyn, Steve smiled, nodded, and stepped to the side so the manager could exit.

When the man pulled the door closed behind him, shutting Steve inside the room with his safe deposit box, he released a deep breath. It wasn’t the first deep breath he’d let out since returning home, and he doubted it would be his last. Two weeks back, and he hadn’t done the one thing he had returned to 1947 to do.

Steve moved to the twenty-by-twenty metal safe deposit cabinet against the wall. Thanks to King T’Challa, Steve needed a large safe to accommodate the monarch’s gift. What a gift it had been. Kneeling, Steve used the key the bank manager had given him to unlock the safe.

Protected in a secure case created in a Wakandan lab by the smartest teenager he had ever met was his Captain America shield. Not the original one created by Howard Stark. That one had been destroyed by Thanos. Maybe vibranium wasn’t as indestructible as once thought, but few beings could match Thanos in strength.

_Or cruel depravity. We’re lucky to have survived. Some of us, anyway._

Steve shut down that train of thought. Now wasn’t the time to think about Natasha and Tony, and all the others who had died because of Thanos. Billions returned after the snap, but lives had still been lost. Nameless, faceless people Steve didn’t know. But their lives, their deaths, mattered to those who loved them. Just as his friends’ deaths mattered to him.

In his good suit, he sank to the floor. Carefully, Steve removed and examined everything he’d added to the safe deposit box. On paper, he’d been an account holder at the Brooklyn Savings Bank for five years. In reality, Steve had returned five days ago to 1942. Armed with all the identification he would need to begin a life as Steven Buchanan, born June 5, 1918, he opened an account.

Steve should feel awful about using the talents of a sixteen-year-old to commit a crime. Several, actually, based on the stack of counterfeit hundred-dollar bills in his box. Yeah, Steve should feel bad about it all, but he couldn’t muster the emotion. Princess Shuri had not only helped Bucky with his arm and Hydra deprogramming, she had also supplied Steve with everything he needed to begin a new life. Bucky may have believed Steve’s decision had been more impulsive than thoughtful, but his friend couldn’t have been more wrong.

Steve removed his compass from the safe deposit box, opening it to Peggy’s picture. He couldn’t return to her with nothing but a smile, an unbelievable story, and a desperate man’s hope. Where would he live? What could he buy with twenty-first century money? What would he do for a living? Steve didn’t expect Peggy to take care of him while he figured it all out. He wanted to add to her life, not detract from it by taking advantage of her kindness and their history as friends and allies.

Steve had refused to show up out of the blue and on her doorstep with nothing to his name. Sure, no matter how he revealed his presence to her, it would be out of the blue to Peggy. And, yeah, Steve didn’t have a job, not that he would need one for years, if ever, if he’d counted Shuri’s counterfeit money correctly. No wonder the bank manager had fallen all over himself to help Steve when he’d arrived today. The teenage genius hadn’t made him Stark-rich, but she also overestimated how much he would need to get started. Then again, Steve reasoned, thumbing a stack of crisp bills, a person with Shuri’s mind miscalculated little.

“You returned my brother to my mother and me, and a king to his people. What you ask, Captain Rogers, is but a small token for all you have done for Wakanda.”

T’Challa and Shuri wouldn’t be born for many decades, but the isolated nation of Wakanda existed, unbeknownst to most people. Steve would guarantee no one learned of the small, technologically advanced nation before the Wakandans were ready to announce themselves to the world.

Steve had traveled to 1970 one more time, when he returned the Space Stone. While there, he helped himself to a few more Pym Particles, which allowed him to make the 1942 then the 1947 trips. The particles were also the reason for his bank visit. Removing a small box with the vials of red liquid from his pants pocket, Steve used his handprint to open the container with his shield and slipped the white box inside.

Grabbing the big manila folder from the safe deposit box, Steve pushed to his feet. Folder and compass in hand, he sat at the square, wooden table, an equally wooden chair on the opposite side. He opened the folder. On top was a picture of Peggy, different from the one he kept in his compass. In this one, she looked closer to the Peggy he’d seen in 1970. It was her first official picture taken as Director of SHIELD. Older yes, but her eyes sparkled with the same fierce determination as her younger self. But there was a wisdom born of decades of experience in the picture Steve examined that didn’t exist in the one from the early 1940s. While only a few strands of gray hair marked the physical span of the twenty-five years between each photograph, it was Peggy’s eyes that revealed the true passage of time.

Steve didn’t have to wonder if his eyes showed the same. He knew they did. He wasn’t the same young man who had gone into the Arctic. He’d grown, matured. He’d lost faith, and then had it restored. He was still much the man Peggy had once known, and not him at all.

That’s why Steve had chosen not to return right after the war had ended. Honestly, he didn’t know the best year, or even month of a year, to reappear in Peggy’s life. He flipped the picture to the other side of the folder. Most of Peggy’s life was in the folder. Well, as much of it he could find and print out before leaving 2023.

It was an invasion of privacy she would blast him about, if she ever found out. To Steve’s way of thinking, he hadn’t returned home to fight fair. When it came to fighting for Peggy and a future with her, Steve could do that all day. So, he read until the bank manager returned, letting him know the bank would soon close.

“Thank you, Mr. Lehman.”

Steve strolled from the bank, mind full of Peggy’s life. The truth of it should’ve alleviated his fears and reduced his anxiety. It didn’t. In the end, Peggy would decide her fate, not Steve and certainly not a future that wasn’t, as far as Steve knew, written in stone.

When he returned home, Steve pulled out paper and pencil and sat at his kitchen table. It was time to move forward with his plan. Not a very romantic way to think about reconnecting with Peggy but, for now, strategy and commonsense trumped romance. No doubt Peggy’s aim had improved since the war. The thought of her being an even better sharpshooter than the one he remembered sent a shiver down Steve’s spine.

_No thank you, ma’am. I won’t be the fool who survived Thanos and the snap only to be taken out by a bullet to the head from Agent Carter._

The thought of the very real likelihood of Peggy shooting him dead, thinking him a Hydra agent in the guise of Steve Rogers, if he showed up at her home unannounced, had Steve taking great care with his letter.

“Do you, uh, perhaps have a kid who could make the run?” Steve asked the florist behind the counter, a white-haired grandfatherly figure who Steve doubted delivered the flowers he sold.

Steve had spent the better part of yesterday evening writing and rewriting Peggy’s letter. While Steve never felt quite at home in the future, advances in tech was a huge plus. He loved the Internet, even if it was overwhelming at first. Cell phones were also great, as were microwaveable popcorn and motorcycles. Steve missed his modern motorcycle more than he thought he would. Steve didn’t, however, think he would miss his Mac. When his hand began to cramp, after he’d crumbled the twentieth letter, Steve would’ve traded his first child for a laptop and Word.

At that, he had smiled. Peggy would certainly have something to say about that kind of deal.

“My son should be back soon.”

“How old is he?”

The older man smiled at Steve. “That pretty, huh?”

“What do you mean—Oh, yeah, she is, but that’s not it.” Steve couldn’t very well explain to a civilian the mindset of a soldier and spy. To keep from making himself sound like an insecure jerk or Peggy a paranoid female afraid of her shadow, Steve said simply, “Kids are fast. I know I used to be.”

The man smiled and nodded. “So did I. A lot longer ago than you, but I used to run like the wind. Has anyone ever told you you look like Captain America?”

“I can’t say that they have,” Steve said with a teasing grin.

“You’re pulling an old man’s leg. My son is twenty-five and as good-looking as Gary Cooper. He’s popular with the ladies, especially pretty ones.” Steve watched as the florist finished preparing Peggy’s bouquet. “You spent a mint on this arrangement. My son doesn’t stand a chance with the lucky female. He’s also fast, so it won’t take him long to make the delivery. Now, do you have a message you want to write on the note?”

Steve accepted the square piece of paper and dull pencil the florist handed him. He’d done enough writing. Peggy didn’t need more words from him, but Steve did have an idea. The note page was small, but Steve could make it work. By the time the florist’s son arrived, not as good-looking as Gary Copper, he’d noted, Steve had finished. He placed the note in the envelope, and handed both to the florist, along with a sealed envelope with Peggy’s name and address. It was a little heavier for the item he’d placed in there along with the handwritten letter.

Hands in pockets, and shoulders hunched to his ears, Steve left the florist shop. It was done. He’d made his move.

The next would have to be Peggy’s.


	3. Compass Points to You

Peggy slammed her apartment door, yanked off her heels and threw them across the room. She opened her mouth to scream bloody murder but stopped, contemplating actual murder. If she were careful, no one would find the body. With Howard’s help, not that she would require his assistance, but he owed her. Howard always owed her. Peggy could make her commanding officer—John Flynn—disappear without a trace.

On stockinged feet, Peggy moved further into Howard’s upscale apartment. She and Angie had done their best to make the place reflect more their feminine and tasteful styles than Howard’s grandiose everything, but there was only so many changes Peggy and Angie could make on their salaries and with their busy schedules.

Not that Peggy was busy with much lately. She plopped onto the sofa, head going to the soft cushion and she slumping. Not very ladylike but neither her mother nor anyone else was around to care. Even if Amanda Carter did see Peggy in such a state, she would more likely scold her for her lack of phone calls and visits than her breach in feminine decorum.

She sighed, tired of the men’s club at work and the society that saw nothing wrong with oppressing huge chunks of its populous. The world required a huge slap across the cheek, and she’d gladly offer her right hand to help move the process along. Maybe Howard could set his mind to work on something useful for a change. Perhaps a giant replica of Peggy’s hand that doled out slaps to sexists, racists, homophobics, and anyone else who thought it fine to limit and hurt people simply because they were born the “wrong” gender, skin color, or other such nonsensical ways of demeaning people for being different and themselves.

Closing her eyes, Peggy worked to calm her anger. No matter how much she may have wanted to slaughter John Flynn and the good ole boy network at the SSR, progress couldn’t be made or wrongs righted if she were an inmate at a federal prison. She sighed again. A drink was in order and, since Angie wasn’t home to join her, Peggy would make it a double.

Two shots of whiskey later, Peggy was back on the sofa, reclined this time, her head and feet propped on pillows. Her mother still wouldn’t approve but what Amanda didn’t know, like so many parts of her life she’d hidden from her parents, well, Peggy was tired of that too. So many charades. Too many lies.

Angie was her best friend, but Peggy didn’t have the luxury of confiding all to the aspiring actress, not if she wanted to keep her safe. Peggy wanted to keep everyone safe, especially those she cared most about—Howard, the ass, the Jarvises the dears, Angie, of course, and Dan—

The phone rang. With the day she’d had, Peggy had no interest in speaking to anyone, least of all Howard who would talk until either Peggy’s ears bled or she hung up on the pompous man.

The ringing stopped but resumed a minute later. Resigned to her fate, blindly, Peggy reached over her head in the general direction of the phone on the table beside the sofa. The third attempt proved successful and she pressed the receiver to her face, muttering, “Howard, this better be important. I’m busy.”

“Busy. Yeah, busy being grumpy.”

Peggy smiled. Not Howard Stark but— “Hello, Daniel. I wasn’t expecting a call from you tonight.”

“Obviously. What did Stark do this time?”

“Nothing.” Peggy thought better of her answer. “Well, probably something I have yet to learn about. But he isn’t the source of my sour mood.” Peggy sat up, feeling better with Daniel’s unexpected call. “Not that I’m complaining but today is Thursday.”

He paused, and Peggy could picture Daniel’s frown. She’d seen it many times, too many of them caused by something she said or did.

“You can’t be serious about us only calling each other on the weekends.”

“We’re both busy people, particularly you. As Chief of the Los Angeles SSR, you can’t afford to be distracted.”

“You aren’t a distraction, Peggy. How can you be when you’re on the other side of the country?”

Peggy considered having another whiskey. She didn’t want to argue with Daniel. They both knew Peggy couldn’t stay in LA indefinitely, not if she wanted to maintain her status as an SSR agent.

“We agreed. My work is in New York. Yours is in California.”

“Yeah, we agreed, but that doesn’t make this any easier.”

“Long distance relationships aren’t unheard of.”

“We aren’t at war, anymore. We don’t have to minimize our relationship for our work. We can have both. We deserve both.”

A pang of . . . something rammed into her chest, shocking Peggy and causing her to almost drop the phone. Daniel continued, but she no longer heard him. Lost in memories she’d pushed deep inside, Peggy clutched at the phone and swallowed the sudden pain in the distinct vicinity of her heart.

_"You have no idea how to talk to a woman, do you?"  
"I think this is the longest conversation I've had with one. Women aren't exactly lining up to dance with a guy they might step on."_

“I know this is. . . _we_ are new.”

_"How do you feel?"  
"Taller."_

“I’m not ashamed to admit that it kinda frightens me.”

_"You know for the longest time I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines. Serving my country. I finally get everything I wanted, and I'm wearing tights."_

“I messed up with Violet, but you know that already. I don’t want to mess this up with you.”

 _“What do you plan to do? Walk to Austria?"_  
_"If that's what it takes."_  
_"You heard the Colonel, your friend is most likely dead."_  
_"You don't know that."_  
_"Even so, he's devising a strategy to take . . ."_  
_"By the time he's done that, it could be too late! You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?"_  
_"Every word."_  
_"Then you gotta let me go."_

Let him go. Peggy had. She’d listened to his plane disappear into the Arctic, unable to save him, even from himself. Then she had stood on the Brooklyn Bridge and poured the last vial of his blood into the East River, letting him go for a second time.

Daniel was right. The war was over. She didn’t need to conceal her feelings, afraid of what people would think or how her personal relationship could diminish her worth in the eyes of men who would always choose to see her through lenses warped by power and privilege.

Peggy opened her mouth to apologize about her role, unintended as it had been, in the dissolution of Daniel’s engagement to Violet, a kind and pretty nurse he would’ve married had Jack not sent her to LA on a case. The thought of the murdered Jack Thompson had bile rising. They may have had their share of differences, but she’d never wished the former chief any ill will. Someone had shot him dead in his hotel room, and the SSR had yet to find Jack’s killer. With each passing day, the case grew that much colder.

John Flynn had refused her request to be placed on the case, as he had every other case that had come through their office. His lack of progress on Jack’s murder, more than the daily patronizing and truncation of her use to that of code breaker and analysts, showed Flynn to be an irredeemable crosspatch. Peggy had no use for that kind of person, and the SSR, unfortunately, abounded with such “leaders.”

“You’re right.”

“About what?”

More than she was ready to admit, even to herself. “For now, a long-distance relationship is our best option. We’ll have to take each day as it come. But you’re right about this not being wartime. We don’t have to ration our time together, even if that time is via the phone.”

“Wow, that was . . . uhh, dare I say easy?”

“Not unless you want me to take the logical leap of you implying I’m a difficult female.”

Daniel laughed, and Peggy grinned.

“You, difficult? What reason would anyone have to think Agent Peggy Carter was difficult? Certainly not me.”

He laughed even more, a hearty, masculine sound she had missed since leaving LA and returning to Brooklyn three weeks ago.

“Oh, hush, Daniel.”

“Make me.”

Peggy reclined her head on the back of the sofa, recalling other times Daniel had spoken those same two words to her. The sentence normally ended with Peggy’s lips on Daniel’s, kissing him into silence.

He sighed, likely having conjured the same memories as Peggy.

“I wish I could. You have such soft yet wicked lips.”

“Wicked, huh? I like that word.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“What else would you do to me, if you were here?”

Oh, so he wanted to have _that_ kind of conversation. Peggy had done an admirable job shoving the unexpected memories and sorrow back into the box she’d kept them in. She had no idea why they’d come spilling out tonight. Such thoughts still hurt, two years not long enough for them not to. She hoped, in time, that she could open the box, pull out the memories of him and smile at the life he lived instead of crying about the life he never had a chance to finish.

As for the rest of it—denied and unspoken dreams—that box would remain forever sealed. Life moved on, and so had Peggy.

She contemplated her answer to Daniel’s question, wondering how far to take her response considering—the buzzer to the apartment rang—jolting Peggy out of the formation of a very naughty thought. The buzzer came again.

“Someone is at the door, Daniel. Give me a minute, please.”

“Sure, uh, yeah. Are you expecting someone?”

Peggy wasn’t, in fact. If it were Howard, he wouldn’t buzz for entry because he thought doors should automatically open for him, particularly ones he used to have complete access to. One of the first decisions Peggy and Angie had made when they’d moved into Howard’s apartment was to change the locks. Mr. Jarvis had a crisp one, two, three habit of buzzing for entry, while the person at her door all but leaned on the buzzer before releasing it to only begin again.

“I’m expecting no one.” She didn’t wait for Daniel to tell her to be careful. They had both seen the scene of Jack’s murder. No evidence of forced entry. Jack had opened his hotel room door to the killer. Peggy wouldn’t make the same mistake. “Hold on, Daniel.”

For a second, Peggy forgot where she’d dropped her purse. On her way to the door, she found the discarded handbag. More importantly, she had her SSR-issued weapon at her side when she reached the door.

The buzzer sounded for a fourth time.

Peggy pressed her eye to the peephole. A male in his mid-twenties waited, impatiently, from the way he glared from her door to what he held in his hand—a rather lovely bouquet of African Violets.

“Hello, is anyone home?” The man glanced down the hall then back at the closed door, seeming unsure what he should do next—leave the arrangement or take them back to the store and try his luck later.

Gripping her gun tighter, Peggy made a decision. “You can leave the delivery.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Do you not require a signature for proof of delivery?”

“Yeah, that’s normally how Pops like things done. But the customer said the lady, you I guess, probably wouldn’t open the door for me and that he would be fine with me leaving the flowers. He said if you didn’t get them, he wouldn’t hold us responsible. But he did fidget some when he gave me the letter, like he wasn’t sure if I could be trusted with it.”

Peggy squinted, trying to see what the man held up to the peephole.

“Describe the customer who sent you here.”

“Umm, Miss, I’ve had a long day.” He bent. “I’ll just leave the delivery here, okay. No fuss, no muss.”

“Wait.”

“You have a good evening.”

Peggy listened as the man retreated. She listened until she no longer heard footsteps then waited a beat longer before opening the door, her pistol at the ready. No sign of the man or anyone else. He had very likely well been a deliveryman. That still didn’t explain who had sent her the arrangement.

She didn’t touch the box with the flowers. She did, with slow caution, remove the note from the arrangement. Opening the white envelope, she expected a signature and/or brief message. What she saw had her raising her gun and stepping fully into the hallway. Again, she heard and saw nothing.

Her heart pounded. Breaths came fast. Who could’ve sent her such a message? Who else could’ve known about their private conversation?

 _"What are you doing here?"_  
_"Officially I'm not here at all. That was quite a performance."_  
 _"Yeah, uh... I had to improvise a little bit. The crowds I'm used to are usually more, uh..."_  
 _"I understand you're America’s new hope."_  
 _"Bond sales take a ten percent bump in every state I visit."_  
 _"Is that Senator Brandt I hear?"_  
 _"At least he's got me doing this. Phillips would have had be stuck in lab."_  
 _"And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey? You were meant for more than this, you know._

Peggy retreated to her opened door, pistol in one hand, the note card in the other. Back going against the wall, she raised the card and looked at an image she hadn’t since 1944. It wasn’t identical. This one seemed more rushed than the first. It didn’t have the same level of detail, but it, God help her, appeared to have been drawn by the same deft hand. But it couldn’t be. Someone, and she would slit the fiend’s throat when she found out who, had been digging into her past and resurrecting ghosts.

Sliding down the wall, she clutched the drawing in her hand, knowing it was a fake but feeling strangely warmed by the artistic strokes and the memory it conjured. Peggy reached for the larger envelope the man had placed beside the box. Without looking inside, she could tell, from the small bulge, that it held more than paper.

She tore an end of the envelope and shook out the contents. A pocket watch fell onto her lap. No, not a pocket watch a . . . “Compass. Steve’s compass?” Her pistol clattered to the floor, her shaking hands unable to hold fast to the weapon no more than Peggy could control the firing of her synapses.

No, no, no, this couldn’t be possible. Steve had carried his compass with him everywhere he went, including onto the crashed and lost Valkyrie. But . . . she opened the compass. Peggy’s image stared back at her. Faded but unmistakably her.

She closed the compass, and her eyes. Her mind raced with endless questions but none more than, “How could anyone other than Steve know?” But Steve Rogers was dead her rational mind reminded her. But her heart, bloody hell her traitorous heart thumped, “What if he survived?” “What if he came back?”

Her mind and heart battled, leaving Peggy at a loss for what to do next until she recalled the note signed simply SGR. “Please read the letter,” Peggy whispered to herself, as if the four words were a prayer capable of manifesting Steve’s ghost.

Taking deep fortifying breaths, Peggy shook herself and opened her eyes. The folded letter had fallen to the floor beside her. She picked it up, spread it out, and tried, as she’d done with the note card and drawing not to recognize Steve’s writing in the letter. Everyone had unique penmanship, and there had been nothing special about Steve’s way of writing, despite his artistic abilities. But Peggy had more than a passing skill in graphology. Graphology was viewed, by some, as pseudoscience but graphanalysis had been a strategy implored by the military during the war. If Peggy hadn’t known Steve had perished in the Arctic, she would’ve sworn he’d written the letter she held in hands she forced not to tremble.

_Dear Peggy:_

_Let me begin by saying that I am Steven Grant Rogers, despite evidence to the contrary. I hope that giving you my father’s compass would help to convince you that I survived the plane crash. It took a while for me to get out of the Arctic, longer than you know, but I did make it out of the ice alive._

_I know it sounds crazy, after two years of being missing. But you know I had that compass with me. You have it now. You know it’s mine. You also know I would never part with it. But I gave it to you because the compass has done its job. It has guided me back to you. Still, I don’t expect you to be convinced so easily. You’ve been trained to ferret-out lies and to discover the truth, even when the truth is stranger than fiction._

_I decided to write this letter because I didn’t want to frighten you or even hurt you with my abrupt return. I apologize if this letter has had that effect. I wish I knew the perfect approach for something like this. But I don’t, probably because neither of us have ever had this experience._

_I want you to know that I’m alive and well and in Brooklyn. I would like to see you. Talk. Explain. But I want to respect your choice not to do any of those things. I’ll understand if you don’t. No hard feelings, Peg, if you don’t. You owe me nothing, while I feel I owe you so much._

_If you want to see me or even if you decide you want to take a shot at the man daring to claim to be Steve Rogers (Take a good look before you shoot, Agent Carter), I’ll be at the L &L Automat tomorrow night at eight o’clock sharp. It’s not the Stork Club but it’s closer than going to Manhattan. I would like to make good on our dance, but that can come later._

_Thank you for taking the time to read my letter. I hope to see you tomorrow._

_Yours truly,_

_Steve_

Peggy could barely read his name through the waterfall of tears. None of this made an ounce of sense. Hydra or a yet known enemy must be behind tonight’s strange events. But how could an enemy mastermind this kind of hoax. Too much was personal. Peggy couldn’t see the pieces of the deception, and the puzzle pieces she did see did not lend themselves to any other conclusion but one.

_Steve Rogers is alive._

Peggy couldn’t trust her heart. But she did trust her instincts and nothing about the note card, letter, or compass set off warning bells. They all had to be from Steve but the improbability of it being true kept Peggy second guessing. What did have her hackles rising was the location of the meet. How had the author of the letter known about the restaurant? Did that mean Angie was in danger?

Peggy jumped to her feet. Angie didn’t work tonight, thank goodness. Rushing inside the apartment, Peggy slipped on her shoes, grabbed her handbag and keys, and ran right back out, securing the letter and compass in her bag.

She didn’t remember the route she took to the restaurant or even how long the trip had taken her, but when she pushed through the glass doors she was out of breath. She didn’t have to scan the place to know no patrons were inside. Correction, there was one person seated in the last booth to the right, facing the door.

He stood, and Peggy’s legs nearly gave way.

She stared at him. Tall. Handsome. Unharmed.

He exited the booth, eyes as gloriously blue as she remembered. He stalked toward her. That was the only way to describe his approach. Yet she sensed the slightest apprehension in his movement.

Peggy, however, couldn’t move. All she could do was stare, as if watching a picture show she hadn’t seen in years but remembered all too well.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Peg. I hoped. God, you have no idea how much I hoped.”

That voice. And his smile. Peggy remembered that smile.

“Steve?”

He nodded. “Yeah, Peg, it’s me. I rented out the place tonight and tomorrow. I’m glad you came tonight, though. I’ve been waiting two hours. I would’ve waited even longer, though. No, don’t. Don’t cry.”

Was she crying? Surely, she hadn’t turned into a watering pot. But she must’ve because her eyes had glazed over again, impairing her vision of the improbable but real sight before her.

“Steve.” Peggy couldn’t manage more than that single word. His name. She stumbled forward like a drunkard, her hand going out to steady herself on the closest booth. But she encountered a warm, sturdy hand instead. “Steve.”

Years later, Peggy still wouldn’t be able to recall if she’d fallen into Steve’s arms, sobbing, or whether he pulled her into him, holding her tightly, his voice a thick, teary admission.

“I’m home, Peg. I’m finally home.”


	4. The Ghost of Peggy's Past

He felt so real. Solid, strong, warm, and so very real. Peggy couldn’t stop holding him, hugging him, pressing her face to his chest and wetting his white, dress shirt. A part of her grimaced with embarrassment at the blubbering female stereotype she’d turned into, while a larger part of Peggy Carter couldn’t care less about appearances because, through some miracle, Steve Rogers was alive, and she’d missed him so damn much.

“I’ve missed you.” Steve’s words but their shared sentiment. Long arms tightened around her and, if she weren’t mistaken, soft lips brushed the top of her head before a chin settled upon it. “So much, Peggy. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

Steve stroked her hair, and Peggy felt utterly safe in his arms. Safe and relaxed in a way she hadn’t felt since leaving the familiar comfort of her family’s home. Safe and relaxed in a way that, until their embrace, she would’ve sworn she was since the end of the war. How could she, until now, have not noticed something so critical was missing from her life?

“I could stay here holding you like this all night. But maybe you would like to sit, have a glass of water, or something stronger, and a meal. I have the chef on standby. He’ll fix you whatever you like.”

The hand fingering through her hair lowered to her chin and lifted. Unbidden, Peggy lifted her own hand to Steve’s face, cupping his wet cheek. There were no words for the wonderous sight. For the feel of him. She’d never been one to stare at a man to the point of gawking, no more than she’d ever enjoyed being the object of a man’s intense visual scrutiny. But Peggy neither minded the way Steve’s eyes roamed her face, in the same respectful way he once had, although with little of the shy, awkwardness that used to accompany such tentative explorations. Nor did Peggy care one wit about her emotional openness, the awe that undoubtedly radiated across her equally wet face.

She wiped away his hears, smiling when he did the same for her.

“Would you like that seat and drink now? If you don’t, I definitely do.”

Peggy nodded, her mouth dry and throat tight. Despite her assent, neither disengaged from each other.

She laughed, a little nervous and a lot happy. The much-needed release seemed to break the spell or bubble or whatever had held them captive.

Stepping back, Steve used one hand to gesture toward the booth where he had been when she’d arrived. “After you, Peggy.”

With another nod, demurer and shyer now that the adrenaline and tears weren’t flowing so freely, Peggy accepted the offer and walked ahead of Steve. Legs not quite gone jelly stiffened enough not to embarrass Peggy. She made it, thankfully, to the booth without falling flat on her face and with her pride intact. When she turned to see if Steve had followed, it was to find him a hard chest away from her. She nearly gasped at his nearness and the stealth by which he’d tracked her progress.

“Umm, sorry. I didn’t mean to walk so closely. And you kinda stopped when I wasn’t expecting you to.”

Something about the way he’d stumbled through those two sentences, so much like the man she once knew, had Peggy reaching up to touch his cheek again. “It really is you, isn’t it?”

“It is, and it’s really you. Just the way I remember.”

There was an emotion that ran between those two sentences other than the happiness that shone in the smile that reached his clear, blue eyes. Grief perhaps, maybe pain.

Peggy retreated to the side of the booth closest to her, her back to the door. Not her preferred seating position while in a public place, but she trusted the man who slid into the booth across from her with her life.

Not because he was Captain America, the hero who saved the world, but because he was Steve Rogers, a good man with the heart and courage of a lion.

She grabbed the glass of water in front of her, downing half of it in one go. It wasn’t whiskey or bourbon, but it would do, melted ice and all.

Steve chuckled, and it was the best sound she’d heard in two long years.

“Who knew 1947 tap water was so good?”

“It’s your own fault.”

Steve leaned forward, elbows going to the spotless table. “Are you saying, Agent Carter, that I make you thirsty?”

Peggy’s mouth dropped open. She’d never heard that saying before, but Peggy damn well knew a pick-up line when she heard one. And it had come from Steve Rogers. The same Steve Rogers who’d once thought fondue was codeword for sex. Peggy pressed the cool glass to her forehead. Maybe this was an illusion after all.

“Are you flirting with me?” she asked in a tone that didn’t fully capture her disbelief or bring into question her sanity.

Steve eyed the handbag she’d unceremoniously dropped beside her. “It depends, are you armed?”

Peggy couldn’t help it, she raised both of her arms and offered a cheesy, “Of course I am. They’re right here, Captain Rogers.”

She thought he would laugh again. Steve didn’t. What he did do, however, had her breath catching in her throat.

Steve smiled at Peggy.

She saw so much in the blue depths. The pain and grief she’d detected earlier but also fear. She didn’t understand the origin of any of those emotions. But he had been gone two years. Although, looking at him, really looking at him, the way he had examined her earlier, the passage of time had taken a deeper toll on Steve than it had on Peggy.

She reached for him, holding his hands and settling them on the table between them. “Tell me.” Peggy didn’t need to say more. He’d crashed a plane, died, as far as she and the world knew. But he’d returned—the same but not quite. Having seen him, touched him, Peggy’s mind and heart no longer battled. The man she’d missed and mourned had indeed returned.

Steve Rogers was back, and Peggy Carter wanted to know what had happened to him.

“It’s kinda hard to explain.” The smile reappeared but not with the same melancholy. “The words are easy to say, but the story is somewhat unbelievable, although everything I’ll tell you is the God’s honest truth.”

“I know you wouldn’t lie to me, Steve. I’ve also seen the strange and the absurd. “I am, after all, friends with Howard Stark.”

“Howard,” he said under his breath, followed by an even softer, “Tony.” For several seconds, Steve’s eyes lowered, and shoulders drooped.

Peggy didn’t know what to make of his emotions, the swings from joy and relief to sadness and heartache.

“It’s all right, Steve. We don’t have to do this now. I can wait.”

The firm shake of his head was his stubborn response. The words that followed were unnecessary.

“No. I have a plan, and it involves telling you the truth.” Steve’s eyes rose to hers. “Some of it anyway. I’ll tell you what I can. Later, depending on things, we can talk about what else I may need to tell you and discuss some of what I probably shouldn’t tell you.”

“What do you mean by ‘depending on things’?”

Raising her hands to his mouth, Steve kissed her knuckles before releasing her hands and leaning his tall frame against the back of the booth. Peggy knew that was all she would get out of him on that front.

She finished off the water. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“That makes one of us.”

“It can’t be that bad, Steve. Just take a deep breath and tell me how you survived and where you’ve been.”

“Right. Right. The short answer is that Dr. Erskine’s serum saved me.”

“I can see that.”

“The serum and probably the ice that froze me.”

“You were frozen?” Peggy couldn’t help the shock. Steve appeared healthy and hale, but he obviously hadn’t been at some point. “Go on.”

“I was found and thawed-out.”

“Thawed-out?”

Steve shook his head at Peggy, a smile playing about his lips. “This is going to be a very long story if you keep interrupting.”

“Oh, yes, apologies. Do continue.”

“It’s really all right. I haven’t talked about it in a long time, and only with one other person I trust as much as I do you. I’m getting off-track. As I was saying. I was found and thawed. I woke up in what I thought was a hospital room.” Steve paused, eyebrow arching.

Silent sarcasm from Steve Rogers. This was new and quite . . . endearing. She returned his arched brow with one of her own, a silent message for him to continue because she had no intention of interrupting him for a third time.

“I soon figured out I wasn’t in a hospital. I was in New York, even though I had no memory of how I got there. But it wasn’t a New York I was familiar with. It wasn’t even the year it had been when I climbed onto the Valkyrie. I went into the water in 1945 but woke up in 2012.”

She waited for Steve’s eyebrow to arch again at the leg he’d pulled. But he only watched Peggy, his expression unreadable. Peggy waved away his foolish statement with a, “You’ve become quite the jokester, Captain Rogers. Ha, ha. Do finish your story. Without the hyperbole this time, if you please.”

Peggy snorted.

Steve remained silent.

“Steve, come on. You can’t be telling me that you crashed the Valkyrie into the Arctic where you stayed, in some sort of frozen stasis until you were located and defrosted. And, by the way, you were no longer in 1945 but decades into the future.”

“August 27, 1939 Bucky and I snuck into the theatre to see _The Wizard of Oz_. I wasn’t proud of myself for doing it. I just really wanted to see that musical, is all. That doesn’t make it right, but I did it all the same.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“About sneaking in to see Judy—”

“Not that. About waking up in 2012. That couldn’t have happened.”

“My singing is atrocious, and I wouldn’t look good in red slippers, silver in Baum’s novel, but I had my own Dorothy moment. If I really committed to the analogy, I could probably align characters from the book to someone I’ve met in the future.” He lifted his index finger, as if to begin but, perhaps taking in her ticking jaw, thought better of proceeding. Steve cleared his throat. “Right. Back to my story. I woke up in 2012. Decades later but it felt only minutes to me. The last thing I remember is looking at your picture in my compass before feeling the nose of the plane enter the water, the impact jolting me forward then back.”

“I need a drink.”

“Oh, I can get you one.” Steve made to rise, but Peggy waved him back down. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I’ve never known you to lie to me. But I would be the one lying if I didn’t admit this story of yours sounds bloody preposterous.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“Or think you are.”

“I’m also not crazy, despite how everything I’ve said might make me sound. If you’re willing to suspend what you know to be reality, and listen to the rest of my story, I think I can convince you I’m not crazy and that I’m being completely honest. If, when I’m finished, you still don’t believe me, I’ll accept whatever steps you think you need to take with me. I’ll go see a shrink, if that’s what you want. I’ll submit to a lie detector test. Although, you’re pretty skilled in that area yourself.” Steve reclaimed Peggy’s hands. “My point is that I’ll do whatever it takes to convince you I’m telling the truth. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do my best to give it to you.”

Steve had already given her all she dared not dream, returning to Peggy something she hadn’t known she’d lost—her belief in miracles.

“Belief suspended. I’m listening.”

For two hours he talked, and Peggy did indeed listen. He had spoken of an organization, SHIELD, the planning of which Peggy hadn’t spoken to anyone about other than Howard and Mr. Jarvis. He’d shared details, although vague in spots, of the people he’d met and the friends he’d made in the future. Also of new villains and unspeakable threats beyond Earth. For all that Steve had shared, the seeming improbable and impossible, including news of a very much alive James Buchanan, there were clearly huge swaths of his past, umm, his future . . .? that he had left out.

“Do you want anything else to eat? The chef and waiter are here for another two hours or so, so you can order more food or dessert.”

Peggy glanced from her half eaten baked chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans to Steve’s two empty dinner plates and a dessert plate with crumbs from his third slice of apple pie. “I think it’s you who may want to order more food. It’s nice to see some things haven’t changed.”

“You think I’ve changed?”

“It would be impossible not to, after everything you’ve been through since we last saw each other.”

“You’re right. I have changed. I hope not too much, though.”

“What do you mea—”

“Wait. You believe me? You said after everything I’ve been through.”

“How could I not? Not even Baum could spin such an outlandish tale. You may be many things Steve Rogers, but a liar, crazy man, or writer of fairy tales you are not. I have no choice but to believe you.”

Steve sank against the booth’s green, faux-leather upholstery, his “Whew,” silent but implied.

“That’s good.”

“And quite the load off, from the look of you.”

Steve peeked at Peggy through narrowed eyes. “Is that a dig about my age?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m only one year older than you.”

Peggy sipped from tea gone tepid, smiling into her teacup at a frowning Steve.

“I am.” He pointed to himself. “July, 1918.” Then to her. “April, 1919. Technically, I’m only nine months older than you.”

“Used to be.”

“What?”

“You used to be nine months older than me. Now you’re,” Peggy lowered her cup, preferring not to ruin her dinner with subpar tea, “more.” Sitting across from him, for a good chunk of her evening, Peggy had noticed all the little ways Steve had changed physically. Not only did his chest and shoulders seem larger, stronger, his voice carried the tone of a man who’d seen and done much. He spoke with authority, of a man used to leading and having others follow him out of respect and trust, not duty or fear. His hair was a darker blond than she remembered, and his eyes bluer when he spoke of people she would never meet and places she would never see. Steve was still the most handsome man she’d ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on, as well as the sweetest, but his years in the future, one battle after another, had left invisible scars on Steve Rogers.

He couldn’t pass as the young, idealistic soldier who had gone willingly to his death. Peggy found, despite sitting across from him, that she still mourned his younger self. She couldn’t care less about the age difference. But it mattered in ways they had yet to discuss.

“You used to be nine months older than me. Add eleven years to that, and you’ll be closer to the right number.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve been known to tell a good joke or two—some quite bawdy, if you must know.”

“You sound proud of that.”

Peggy forked a piece of pound cake into her mouth. “Quite.”

“Okay, tell me a joke.”

“You’re serious?”

“Quite,” Steve repeated in a dreadful imitation of her London accent.

She told the first joke that came to mind in a perfect Brooklyn accent, not releasing her T’s and D’s at the end of her words and speaking fast. “Two aerials meet on a roof – fall in love – get married. The ceremony was rubbish – but the reception was brilliant.”

Steve laughed, probably more at her imitation of him than the quality of her joke. “That’s was good. Tell me another.”

It didn’t take Peggy long to come up with a second joke, mainly because her brother, Michael, was the best story-and-joke teller she’d known. “About a month before he died, my grandfather covered his back full of lard. After that he went downhill very quickly.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yet you’re laughing.”

“Tell me another one.”

“I was unaware you’d invited me here to serve as your jester.”

Not that Peggy minded. She quite enjoyed the sound of Steve’s laughter, particularly the way his eyes squinted in the corners when he smiled, and the way they lit up, like a child’s, when she delivered the punchline. It could’ve also been the way he looked at and listened to Peggy that generated the heat blossoming across her chest and that had her reciting a third and fourth joke.

Before she’d known it, they’d spent an hour exchanging truly awful jokes while stuffing themselves with dessert. At one point, the chef and waiter came from the back to see what the ruckus was all about, only to find Steve and Peggy on the same side of the booth laughing uproariously about a joke involving a man’s shoe size and other things. They would’ve thought them drunk, but Steve and Peggy hadn’t had anything stronger than too sweet tea.

“We better leave.” Steve helped Peggy to her feet. “I may have paid for the evening, but I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

Steve offered her his arm, and she took it. Peggy still had dozens of questions, such as whether Steve had a wealthy aunt or uncle who’d died and left him an inheritance because, the Steve Rogers she had known could not afford to rent out the eatery for an evening, much less two evenings. But Peggy refrained from asking that question and others. She was exhausted and, frankly, Peggy didn’t think she could take any more of Steve’s truths tonight.

So, she permitted him to escort her home, already knowing he knew her address since he’d been the one to send the deliveryman to her apartment. She added that unasked-question to her list.

Surprisingly, for all that they’d spent the night talking and laughing, the journey home was filled with awkward silence. Steve had never said why he had decided to return to this time period or what he would do now that he was back. She knew he’d taken on the identity of Steven Buchanan but that was as close as he’d gotten to talking about his current status. He had revealed that no one else knew of his return, although she sensed he wanted to reach out to the Barnes family, Howard, and the Commandos. All of that had gone unsaid, though.

They still had so much to discuss.

“This is where you live now?”

“You know that already.”

Steve nodded, hands shoved in his pants pockets and him in front of her apartment door.

Peggy withdrew her key, the tremble in her hand returning. “I, umm. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“If you want. I’ve already paid for the restaurant. I’d like to try the meatloaf. Eight o’clock? I can pick you up or we can meet there. Whatever you want.”

Steve moved closer, and Peggy found herself caged between him and the door behind her.

Peggy had no idea what she wanted. Her brain functions had suddenly shut down, narrowing to Steve and this moment.

“How about I pick you up at seven-thirty?”

“S-se-seven-thirty will be fine.”

“Good. Then it’s a date.”

No, not a date. Her brain whirled, telling Peggy she had forgotten something important. But she had no idea what.

Steve leaned even closer, his chest grazing hers, and whatever message her mind was trying to transmit floated away with the feel of his warm breath.

“You gave me something I’ve been dying to return.”

She didn’t recall giving Steve anything. Peggy was the one who still had his compass in her bag. She was the one who had something to return to him.

“Steve, I—”

He kissed her.

Gentle.

Sweet.

Short.

All the ways Peggy would’ve described Steve Rogers before Project Rebirth.

Peggy’s lips tingled from the feel of Steve’s lips on hers minutes after he’d said his goodbye and she’d entered her apartment and locked the door.

She could still feel them when Angie came into view, Peggy having not moved from the foyer.

“What’s with the odd look on your face, English?”

“I, uhh . . .”

“Where have you been all evening? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had a hot date who kissed you senseless in the hallway.”

A date? A date? Bloody hell, she’d been on a date. With Steve Rogers. Peggy didn’t date. Peggy didn’t date because Peggy . . .

“There was a box of flowers in front of the door, when I got home. I brought it in. The bouquet is in the living room.” Angie tugged on Peggy’s sleeve, leading her from the foyer into the living room. “By the way, Daniel’s been calling all evening. He sounded worried. You should probably call him back.”

Daniel.

Peggy closed her eyes, although she should’ve smacked her forehead. Daniel. No, Peggy didn’t date because Peggy had a boyfriend, and he wasn’t Steve Rogers.

Her resurrected soldier.

Her walking, talking . . . great kissing miracle.

Peggy sank onto the sofa.

The phone rang.


	5. Conversations at Midnight

Peggy brushed her teeth, showered, and performed every one of her normal evening routines before climbing into bed and returning Daniel’s phone calls. If she took longer than usual with each nightly task, she chalked that up to her having a tedious workday and an emotionally draining evening. Peggy was not, she assured herself, a yellow-bellied coward. A midnight call wasn’t that late, especially since it was nine in the evening LA time.

Daniel picked up on the fourth ring, winded, as if he had rushed to answer the phone. “Peggy?”

“Yes, Daniel, it’s me. I’m sorry for calling so late and for missing your other calls.”

“Are you okay?”

The concern in his voice made Peggy feel worse and, if memory served, although it hadn’t a few hours ago, she’d left him on hold to dash out to L&L Automat to see Steve. Peggy slid down the bed, ashamed of her lapse in good manners.

“I’m fine.”

“Good. I assumed something important must’ve come up when you didn’t come back on the line. Are you positive you’re fine? You sound like yourself, but, ahh, well, you know.”

Yes, Peggy did know. She wasn’t exactly the most forthcoming person, even when she needed assistance. Perhaps especially when she needed help.

“I really am fine, Daniel. Again, I am sorry for worrying you. That wasn’t my intention.”

His breathing had slowed, which made Peggy feel better. But only marginally because when he laughed his relieved laugh, she couldn’t help but compare it to Steve’s. They were both lovely sounds that tugged at her heart. She firmly did not think about which voice she wanted to hear upon waking and falling asleep.

“What was the emergency?”

Of course, Chief Sousa would ask that question. Peggy inwardly groaned. As a spy, she prided herself on telling believable lies. That didn’t, however, mean she relished using those same skills in her personal life, although she’d been known to do so on more than one occasion.

Peggy didn’t want to lie to Daniel. In fact, she had every intention of telling him about Steve’s return. Not the details, of course. She could barely wrap her mind around all he’d told her, no less repeat any of it to someone else. Telling Daniel the truth also included the bit about Steve’s kiss. She may have moved at a snail’s pace before mustering the courage to call him, that did not mean, however, that she would keep something so important from him.

It was bad enough Peggy had forgotten entirely about Daniel, up to and including accepting a kiss from Steve. The kiss. It wouldn’t take much concentration for her to recall the sweetly tender touch of his lips against hers or the way her heart had pounded and her skin had heated. Peggy would confess. Her conscience wouldn’t allow for anything less.

The problem, which contributed to Peggy’s phone call procrastination, had less to do with her willingness to tell Daniel about Steve but Steve’s right to determine who should know about his return and when. Peggy had considered waiting until she spoke with Steve again to not only tell him about Daniel but to also ask his permission to tell Daniel about him before she called and had this very conversation. Peggy had decided against adding even more hours to Daniel’s anxiety over her temporary MIA status, so she’d called him.

Peggy burrowed deeper under the duvet. “It wasn’t exactly an emergency.”

“Then what was it?”

Daniel sounded so reasonable, even in his curiosity. She felt like a heel. Not so much for her thoughtlessness for leaving him on the phone to run after a ghost. What person, in her position, wouldn’t have done the same? Not many, Peggy reasoned. No, she felt like a heel for forgetting about Daniel to the point of accepting a kiss from another man.

It wasn’t as if Peggy and Daniel had had a conversation about exclusivity. Their relationship was so new there were a great many conversations they had yet to have. Just as there were a great many experiences they had yet to share. Sex being at the top of that list. Peggy had figured, in time, that level of intimacy would naturally occur. Did one need to have a formal discussion to let nature take its course?

Peggy didn’t think so. No more than she thought it necessary to declare her monogamy or ask for his when she’d kissed him goodbye at the Los Angeles Airport. It was, well, somewhat implied. They were dating . . . each other only.

Yet she’d spent an entire evening with Steve. They’d eaten, talked, and laughed. He’d escorted her home, like the gentleman he’d always been, and then he had kissed her goodnight. To anyone, that would constitute a date, every ingredient included.

Steve had kissed her, the same way she’d kissed him before he’d taken a leap from the car Phillips drove and onto the Valkyrie and out of her life. Peggy had kissed Steve that fateful day, and he had returned her kiss-surprised at first but no less eager to reciprocate. When Steve had kissed Peggy tonight, she’d also been surprised. Surprised but not to the point of failing to return the kiss, just as Steve had returned hers.

Not deep, or long, or even involving hands and tongues. Depending on one’s perspective, the kiss could’ve been an opening of a once closed door or a sweet “could’ve been” moment between old, reunited friends.

“It’s top-secret, Daniel. I’m not at liberty to tell you. When I am, I will.”

“So, you will be able to eventually tell me what happened tonight?”

“I anticipate being able to relay a portion of it, yes.”

“I understand.”

Of course he did, as would Peggy if he’d told her the same. They worked for a clandestine government agency. Secrets and lies were their currencies.

“I promise. I’ll tell you when I can, what I can.” Tomorrow, if Steve agreed.

“Are you in bed? It’s pretty late New York time.”

“I am. Talk tomorrow?”

“I guess that’s my cue to let you go. Okay, Peg. Goodnight. I . . .”

Daniel paused, as if he would say more. In the end, all she heard was a sigh, so she signed-off with her typical, “Sleep well, Daniel.”

Peggy popped her head from under the duvet long enough to hang-up the phone. She really was knackered, and morning would come sooner than she liked. It didn’t take long for Peggy to drift off, a single image of a blond man with blue eyes playing around the edges of her consciousness.

The phone rang, jolting her out of what could’ve been an interesting but inappropriate dream.

“Hello?”

“Oh, sorry. I was hoping to catch you before you fell asleep.”

“Steve.”

“Go back to sleep, Peggy. Sorry.”

“I’m up. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I should’ve looked at the time. Damn, it’s almost one. You have to work in the morning.”

“I do, but . . . how do you know my number?”

Like Daniel earlier, Steve paused.

“In fact, how did you know my address or that I would know where to find L&L Automat?”

“Yeah, I knew I wouldn’t be able to slip any of that past you. Can we hold off on having that conversation until I see you tomorrow? Well, uhh, later today?”

Peggy dragged the phone in bed with her, more awake than she should be. She guessed it was fortunate Flynn hadn’t assigned her a single case since it seemed Peggy’s Friday evening would consist of bicoastal heart-to-hearts with a man she liked and respected and with a man she’d missed and . . .

“Come earlier than seven-thirty then. There’s something I must speak with you about, as well.”

“That’s fine. I’ll pick you up from work.”

“Steve,” she ground out. “Do you have a file on me?”

After all the time he’d spent in the future, Steve Rogers was still an abysmal spy.

“Maybe a little one.”

“Little?”

“Yeah, little. Only a few inches thick.”

“What?”

“No need to bark, Peggy. Are you trying to burst my eardrums?”

Steve laughed at his own joke. Peggy didn’t, but she couldn’t help the smile that formed. The word _adorable_ came to mind, but she squashed the thought.

“Bring the file with you.”

“Nope.”

“But—”

“ ‘Somewhere over the rainbow way up high  
There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby  
Somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue  
And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true’ “

Steve was singing. To her. Peggy sat up in bed, receiver clutched to her hand and pressed to her ear.  
  
“ ‘Someday I'll wish upon a star  
And wake up where the clouds are far  
Behind me  
Where troubles melt like lemon drops  
Away above the chimney tops  
That's where you'll find me’ “

He hadn’t lied. Lucky for him the chorus girls had done the singing during the USO tours. Still, that eight-letter word reentered Peggy’s head. _Adorable._

“ ‘Somewhere over the rainbow bluebirds fly  
Birds fly over the rainbow  
Why then, oh, why can't I?  
  
If happy little bluebirds fly  
Beyond the rainbow  
Why, oh, why can't I?’ "

When he’d finished, Peggy was fully awake and grinning like a woman in . . . well, she wouldn’t travel down that particular road.

“I just wanted to wish you a good night, and say thank you for believing me. It means a lot. It means everything.”

Words stuck in her throat. Many, many words. Unspeakable, unthinkable, but deeply felt. Too deeply. God, far too deeply.

“Goodnight, Peggy.”

A tear trickled down her cheek, and all she could think to say in response was, “Sweet dreams, my darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Chapter 6 up soon.


	6. Quotes to Live By

Steve knew he was impatient, but he couldn’t wait. Hell, he’d barely been able to sleep. When he finally drifted off, it was to dream of Peggy. Had she really called him _darling_? Had it been a slip? Probably, but that didn’t mean Peggy hadn’t meant it.

Steve knew he wore the biggest shit-eating grin, and he didn’t give a damn. He was back where he belonged, and he’d spent hours with Peggy. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell her that she’d died during the time he’d spent in the future, much less that he’d been one of her pallbearers. The thought of having lived in a world without Peggy dimmed his smile, as he recalled how devastated he’d been when he had learned of her passing. Steve imagined his grief had matched the same sorrow that Peggy had felt for the last two years, thinking him dead, which, in a way, he had been.

Steve crossed the street, following the flow of traffic and blending in the best he could.

In a twisted way, Steve had Thanos, the megalomaniac that he had been, to thank for his second chance with Peggy. If not for him, Tony and Bruce would’ve never had reason to explore the possibility of time travel. As happy as Steve was, as happy as he would be whenever Peggy got around to admitting he was still her right partner, he would forego his future joy with Peggy for the return of the lives Thanos had stolen. Steve knew all about survivor’s guilt, even when he ran the counseling group and talked about acceptance and moving on.

He increased his speed, making his way around people going about their evening business, excusing himself when he bumped into those walking far slower than he had become accustomed to New Yorkers moving.

He hadn’t accepted his losses or moved on, not really. But when he’d seen Peggy in 1970, his heart literally hurt for the life he could’ve led, for the couple they could’ve been, and for the family they could’ve had. For once, Steve Rogers wanted something for himself, a bone-deep need he could no longer ignore.

He stopped, glanced around the busy street. Shit. Where in the hell did sh— Two fingers pressed against his back.

“I have no idea how you survived in the twenty-first century with such poor tracking skills?”

The fingers poked him again. Emphasizing her unstated point that, if she’d intended him harm, he would be dead.

“You wouldn’t shoot me.”

“Is that in your file, Mr. Buchanan? Do you have a list of people who’ve ended up on the wrong side of my pistol?”

“Maybe,” he joked.

“Again with the maybe. I thought I told you to bring my file.”

“It’s my file, and I distinctly remember telling you no.”

Peggy snorted, a cute sound that had Steve turning around. And, just like yesterday when she’d rushed into the eatery, his breath left him. No matter the time period, Peggy Carter was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, made sexier by her intelligence and mean right hook.

“When did you spot me?”

A hand rose and plucked off Steve’s Brooklyn Dodgers baseball cap. “The minute I stepped out of the phone company.”

Frowning down at her, Steve couldn’t tell if Peggy was serious. “I’m better than that.”

She poked him with her fingers again, simulating the barrel of a gun. “Then explain how I got the jump on you.”

“Luck.”

“Luck my—”

Steve kissed her. Right there, on the street, and only four blocks from New York Bell Company, a front for SSR’s New York office. He’d told himself to go slow, to not rush her, to wait for Peggy to tell him what she wanted now that he was back. Steve had followed his plan. He was proud of how well their first meeting had gone. He’d done everything the way he was supposed to. But when he had stood in front of her door last night, her key in her hand and she prepared to end their evening, all he could see was him balancing on the hood of a car-the Valkyrie in front of him, Peggy behind him.

So, he’d kissed her. Not the way he wanted to, the way he’d dreamed of doing more often than any adult male should admit to. He had at least kept it light, when his body craved nothing more than to shove her against the door and fuck her right there in the hallway. Steve wasn’t a crass man, but he knew what would happen when he and Peggy finally got around to having sex. He may love her. He had for most of his adult life. And everything in him told Steve Peggy felt the same. Love wouldn’t be the issue. Their first time, however, wouldn’t be about making love, but about slaking a primal need years in the making. 

Peggy was both a woman beyond her time but also of the time, so Steve wasn’t surprised with the gentle shove to his chest. The fact that he wasn’t nursing a Hodge-level fist to the face for daring to kiss her in public was all the confirmation he needed. Steve may have trusted Peggy’s words, but he trusted her actions more.

He pulled back. “Sorry about the PDA.”

“I have no idea what PDA means, but your grin says you’re sorry about nothing. What has the future done to you?”

Steve grabbed her hand, turning them in the direction of her apartment building. “Not the future. You.”

“Don’t blame me for your lack of manners.”

“Oh, yeah, like you’re one to talk.”

“I beg your pardon?”

There were so many naughty and fun comebacks that included the word _beg_. Okay, Peggy may have a point about the future having influenced Steve. It was just he hadn’t been this happy in a long time. He held her hand firmer, small and soft compared to his own.

Steve couldn’t believe it. He was walking down the street holding Peggy’s hand. No one questioned them. No one looked at them as if they were doing something they weren’t supposed to be. They were just one of many anonymous couples in the crowd. They weren’t an official couple. Steve may have been happy, but that didn’t make him also delusional.

“ ‘Every day is a new opportunity. You can build on yesterday's success or put its failures behind and start over again. That's the way life is, with a new game every day, and that's the way baseball is.’ ”

Peggy stopped and stared up at him, her red lipstick smudged from their kiss. He should probably tell her, but he kind of liked the visual reminder of their second kiss. She’d kick his ass, once she got home and realized he’d allowed her to walk around Brooklyn less than her immaculate self.

“Who said that?”

“I just did.” Steve winked.

She shook her head, feigning exasperation. “I have no idea who you are. If you’re a product of the future, we’re all in trouble.”

“Bob Feller. Cleveland Indians pitcher. He served. USS Alabama in the South Pacific. Gun captain. ‘The soldiers that didn't come back were the heroes. It's a roll of the dice. If a bullet has your name on it, you're a hero. If you hear a bullet go by, you're a survivor.’ Feller was a survivor.”

Peggy threaded their fingers, her face upturned to his, and he wanted to kiss her again for all the raw emotion he saw in her eyes.

“You came back.”

 _For you. Only ever for you._ Steve wouldn’t tell her yet. As romantic as some women would find what he’d done, he wouldn’t pressure or burden Peggy with that knowledge. The weight of that truth wasn’t fair to anyone. Steve may have viewed Peggy as the source of his happiness, his biggest life regret, but no one was responsible for someone else’s happiness. People had to find and make their own joy. For Steve, that was Peggy. For Peggy, she would have to decide if Steve was her joy.

“I’m glad I did.”

“So am I, despite you having picked up the most atrocious habits. I have no idea what I’m going to do with you.”

_Love me. Marry me._

“You can tell me how you backtracked without me noticing.”

With a smirk, Peggy resumed walking, their hands still linked.

“Trade secrets, my boy, trade secrets.”

Steve laughed. “If Phillips ever heard you imitate him that would’ve been all you wrote.”

Peggy shrugged, as unrepentant as a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “I’ve done worse while under his command. Like helping you.”

“As I recall, it turned out for the best.”

“You were late. That’s what I recall.” Peggy stopped again. “You were late,” she repeated softly, not looking at Steve and no longer talking about his rescue of the war prisoners from Austria.

They didn’t speak again until they were inside Stark’s turned Peggy’s apartment. Like everything with a Stark, the dwelling was expensively furnished—from the furniture to the paintings to the latest appliances of the era. The bombast of the apartment didn’t suit the Peggy he knew, although the woman was good at adapting. As an agent, her life, and the lives of others, depended on her flexibility.

“We need to talk.” Peggy patted the cushion beside her on the sofa, where she’d sat after removing her shoes and pulling her legs under her.

Unsure how comfortable he should make himself, Steve sat but left his shoes on. “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”

“You know.”

He really wasn’t sure, but he had an idea she meant his deliberate and obvious omission of her in his retelling of his time in the future.

“What specifically do you want to know?”

She seemed to deflate a little. “I’m not sure if I want to know any of it. You have a file on me from the future.”

He nodded, confirming what she already knew.

“Did we meet again after you were . . . umm, after you were . . .”

“Defrosted?”

“For lack of a more accurate term, yes. I would’ve been quite old, but I sense you knew me in your future.”

“You were, and I did. It had felt like minutes to me, but the world had passed me by while I slept. You said I was late. You were right. I’m sorry, by the way.”

“You don’t owe me an apology. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I owe you more than an apology, Peggy.” Steve twisted to the side, facing her. “Can we put all of our cards on the table?” He hadn’t traveled decades into the past to beat around the bush. They’d done enough of that during the war.

“Yes, let’s.”

“Good.” Steve took Peggy’s hands in his. “There was a lot that went unsaid between us, during the war.”

“True.”

“But there was also plenty that happened between us that went beyond me being Captain Rogers and you being Agent Carter.”

“Also true.”

“When I thought about what my life would be like after the war, you were always part of what I hoped for myself. I don’t think I’m wrong in saying you felt the same way. That, when you thought about your post-war self, you saw me next to you—the right partner.” He kissed her knuckles, the way he had last night. “Your partner. For me, that hope hasn’t changed, no matter how late I am in reaching for that dream.”

“Steve, I . . .”

“I don’t expect anything from you, Peggy. Truly, I don’t.” He kissed her hands again, then placed them back in her lap. “No, that’s not true. I would like for us to get to know each other again. I would like to spend time with you. Talking. Dancing. Walking. I would like that very much. But that’s what I want, and what happens between us cannot be all about me. It has to be about us. So, that’s where I stand.”

For long minutes Peggy didn’t speak. Her eyes moved from Steve to her hands, which she twisted in her navy-blue dress that fit her curves in a way Steve tried, very hard, not to notice.

“That’s a lot,” she breathed out.

“I know. I meant to wait before I laid all of that on you. I told myself to wait, to be patient.”

“Tell me what you know about my current life.”

“Where you work and live, but you know that already. Who your roommate is. What your next case will be.”

“My next case? Flynn hasn’t given me a single case since I returned from LA, the narrow-minded wanker.”

“Yeah, well, you won’t have to worry about him for much longer.”

“I’m not?”

“Okay, you’re not going to weasel details out of me about your future.”

“What good are you then?”

Steve leaned close and captured her lips. “I’m plenty good. Let me know when you want to find out.”

“I’m already in a relationship, Steve.”

Well, that was like crashing back into the Arctic. Steve sat back. “Is it serious?”

“You didn’t know?”

“Despite what you may believe, I don’t know everything about your life. Most of what I know is job-related. Even that, because of the nature of your work, is sketchy.”

He’d received help with his research from an unlikely source. But, with her confession, she wasn’t ready to hear that story. This entire conversation was a slippery slope.

“It’s been two years for you, Peggy. I assumed you dated, maybe even found someone you cared about. I hoped . . . well, I hoped things I probably shouldn’t have. Just so you know, unless you tell me you’re engaged and love the guy with all your heart, I’m not leaving you again. I know it’s sexist to say I’d fight for you, as if a man could ever claim a woman, especially Peggy Carter, but I will fight for an opportunity to be the one you’re in a relationship with.”

This time, when he leaned in and kissed her, Steve didn’t stop at a peck. He took her mouth in a hungry kiss, sucking her lower lip then parting them for his tongue. She moaned, and he slipped inside, tasting her for the first time.

Peggy tasted like home, heat, and shit, why in the hell hadn’t they kissed like this during the war, Phillips be damned.

She ripped her mouth away, breaths fast and lips red from more than her lipstick. “I can’t. Daniel’s a good man.”

Daniel. His competition.

“Do you love him?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Peggy was probably right. Steve slid closer. “That’s fair. What about me? Do you love me, Peggy?”

Closing her eyes, she sucked in a breath, and Steve could almost hear her cursing him in her mind. “You’ve become a right ass. Have you been in contact with Howard because you’re acting just like a Stark?”

“Not yet. But I will. I’d like to see Howard.”

She opened her eyes—brown like the most flavorful chocolate. “He would like that. He never gave up hope he would find you.”

Something else they needed to talk about.

“Would you mind if I told Daniel about you? Only that you’ve returned, of course.”

“Sure. May I kiss you again?”

“Did you not hear the part about me being in a relationship?”

“You don’t love him.”

“You couldn’t possibly know that.”

Steve did know. He knew Peggy would never allow anyone, even Steve, to kiss her—repeatedly—if she was in a loving, committed relationship. The woman may be a spy, but she wasn’t built to give her heart and body to two men at the same time.

“Are we still going out for dinner?”

“No, I’m cross with you.”

Steve was tempted to say something about kissing her glare away, but he’d pushed Peggy enough for one day.

“What if I made it up to you by cooking dinner?”

Her glare softened to something akin to a lioness sizing up her prey. “And dessert.”

“If you have what I need, sure.”

Her skepticism combined with her smile. “I think you’re full of shit, Captain Rogers.”

“There’s only one way to find out, Agent Carter.” Steve pushed to his feet. He offered Peggy a hand, which she flatly refused with a roll of her eyes.

She pointed to her right. “The kitchen is that way, Antoine Beauvilliers.”

Antoine, who? Steve didn’t care.

“You’re going to sit there and let me do all the work?”

“I am.”

“Hmm, I hope that’s not a sign of things to come.” Steve waited a beat for Peggy to catch his meaning. When she did, she turned a luscious shade of pink. Satisfied, he walked around the sofa in the direction of Peggy’s imperial finger. He stopped, backtracked. Looming over her from behind the sofa, Steve kissed the top of her head. “ ‘The world has changed, and none of us can go back. All we can do is our best, and sometimes, the best we can do is start over.’ Margaret Elizabeth Carter. I’d take her advice over anyone’s.”

Steve didn’t wait for her reply. Peggy needed time. He would make sure she got it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you all are okay with my first Steggy fic. With Steve, I'm going with the perspective that he is a combination of old school Steve at heart but with 21st century knowledge and experiences he can't simply shake because he went back in time. He's done a lot of growing up and changing in the interim, so I'm trying to show that growth in his approach with Peggy. As for Peggy, well, she is pretty honorable, IMO, even in light of getting Steve back. I want to show a bit of the push-pull emotional dynamics of the triangle. It'll resolve itself very soon.
> 
> Let me know what you think.


	7. A Kiss is Just a Kiss-Or is It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to come to a head for Peggy, and she makes a decision, while Steve makes dinner.

* * *

Peggy had no idea what Steve was preparing for dinner. For all that this was Peggy’s apartment and Steve a guest, he’d banned her from her own kitchen. Not that she had the slightest interest in cooking. She did, however, find she had an overwhelming urge to watch Steve’s serum-enhanced body move about. Whatever awkwardness he had once felt with his new body had vanished, leaving behind a graceful specimen of a man.

She tried not to think about the way his button-up shirt clung to his broad chest, wide back, and muscular arms. Or the way his trousers fit his thighs and back side to perfection. Peggy sighed, overcome with a confluence of emotions.

Steve Rogers was back. Not a tired dream she replayed each night. Not an illusion she saw at the end of a frustrating day when she wanted to see a kind, reassuring face after dealing with an office of plonkers. He was real.

Real.

Real.

No matter how many times Peggy repeated the four-letter word, a part of her still couldn’t believe Steve was well, among the living, and had sought her out. Peggy had felt every hour of the time since his plane had crashed. Not a day had gone by that she hadn’t thought of the skinny kid from Brooklyn with the dream of being a solider and fighting the good fight for his country—a true patriot and hero when the world needed more of both.

Yes, Steve Rogers was most definitely real. Real smiles—warm and sincere. Real kisses—devastating and tempting. Real wants—Peggy and the life his martyrdom had denied him.

Steve hadn’t cared that she was in a relationship with Daniel. No, that wasn’t quite right. He hadn’t dismissed Daniel’s place in her life. Steve’s response hadn’t been that of a naive, young man, projecting his insecurities, but of a mature man who knew his worth.

_“Well, what about you and Stark? How do I know you two haven't been . . . fonduing?”_

She couldn’t help it. Peggy laughed out loud, earning her a, “What’s so funny?” from the kitchen. Back then, Steve, from his own admission, had no idea how to talk to women. The same couldn’t be said now, Peggy noted, proud of him for expanding his horizons but also jealous he’d done so without her.

Irrational jealousy, of course. When he’d went into the ice, she was the more worldly of the two. Now, Steve had a decade on Peggy, the gulf between them made that much greater for him having lived those years in a future so far beyond anything Peggy could envision.

A dark-blond head peeped around the corner. “You’re in here by yourself and the radio isn’t on. What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing, darling.”

The moment the endearment slipped from her mouth two things happened. One, Steve grinned at her like a prize peacock. Two, she blushed. She had thought he would mention the slip when they had spoken of Daniel, but Steve had had the good grace not to call Peggy on her inconsistency. She no more meant to use the word last night than she had today. It was a Freudian slip she couldn’t take back, no matter how much she felt her face blush or how disloyal it made her to Daniel.

“I didn’t mean . . . What I’m trying to say is that I shouldn’t have . . .”

With each poorly executed sentence, Steve’s face fell—Peggy’s raincloud dimming his sun’s rays.

“It’s fine. I get it. I do. Like you said, you’re in a relationship with someone who isn’t me.” Big shoulders shrugged, a sudden inelegance that no longer fit Steve. “Dinner is almost ready. I found leftover meatloaf, so I’m heating that up. A microwave would be great about now since everything else is ready. Help me set the table?”

It wasn’t fine. Peggy was a voracious reader. Always has been since she was a girl. She adored _The Good Earth_ by Pearl Buck, _Years of Grace_ by Margaret Ayer Barnes, and the poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways._

_I love thee to the depth and breadth and height_

_My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight_

_For the ends of being and ideal grace._

_I love thee to the level of every day’s_

_Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight._

_I love thee freely, as men strive for right;_

_I love thee purely, as they turn from praise._

_I love thee with the passion put to use_

_In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith._

_I love thee with a love I seemed to lose_

_With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,_

_Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,_

_I shall but love thee better after death._

She didn’t, however, care for the insipid hero and heroine in Regency romances, each portraying ascribed gender roles in society. Worse were the love triangles, with two males posturing for the affections of a twit who would spend the lion’s share of a novel deciding between the obvious choice and a male no woman, even one with a half a brain, would leg shackle herself to until death, or a bullet to one of their heads, did them part.

Yet, there Peggy found herself with two worthy suitors. But she was no dime store novel heroine. She was neither torn between Daniel and Steve nor were they the kind of men to treat her as a game of tug of war, each vying for supremacy over the other with Peggy as the prize. It also wouldn’t take Peggy weeks, months, or even days to divine the truth of her heart and mind.

Steve and Daniel deserved better than an indecisive Peggy. She would settle things sooner rather than later.

“What is a microwave?”

“An electronic oven that heats and cook food really fast using electromagnetic radiation.”

Peggy frowned, and got to her feet. “Why in the hell would you eat something heated with radiation?” Walking toward Steve and the dining room, Peggy couldn’t help but shake her head. “The more I learn about the future the more I think I won’t like it.” Peggy halted at the threshold between the living and dining rooms, stopping in front of a smiling Steve. “What have you prepared, other than leftover meatloaf from the automat?” She plucked at the bib apron with heart-shaped pocket Steve wore. “Don’t let Angie catch you wearing this. This apron is her favorite.”

Steve struck a front double bicep pose, making him look even more ridiculous and tasty in her friend’s apron. Although, considering Angie had to wear an apron when she worked at the automat, Peggy didn’t know how she stood to wear one at home too.

“I could purchase you an apron of your own, if you like it so much. Maybe in red, white, and blue and with stars.”

Steve harrumphed, but struck another pose, a side chest pose that displayed his chest size and thickness. Impressive and utterly swoon-worthy, if Peggy was the kind of woman given to fainting over a man’s physique.

She patted his arm. “You are a credit to your gender, and bodybuilders the word over. Now, what have you prepared for dinner? I’m famished.” For more than food, her traitorous body reminded her. Peggy stepped fully into the dining room. The dishes were kept in the sideboard, an elegant hand-carved cabinet with brass and stone hardware. “You finish dinner, and I’ll set the table.”

Peggy turned away from Steve before he could do something wonderfully inappropriate like kiss her again. She really did need to refrain from accepting more kisses from him, no matter how soft his lips or how well he used his tongue. Peggy refused to think about said tongue on parts of her body in desperate need of attention or how Steve had come to know how to use his tongue so well.

Ten years, for him, Peggy reminded herself. She knew men well enough to know they didn’t, not if they could help, go a decade without sex. Hell, neither did women. Steve Rogers, for all of his boy-next-door charm and goodness, was a single, attractive, and virile man. Surely, in those ten years, he had found a few women with whom he shared more than a few sweet kisses. Perhaps he’d even loved one or two of them.

The distasteful thought threatened to ruin her appetite, so she barreled forward, grabbing what she needed from the sideboard.

“Three settings? Are you expecting your roommate home for dinner?”

“Yes, Angie should be home soon from rehearsal.”

“Good. I made enough for all of us, and I was kinda hoping to meet Miss Martinelli.”

Hands going to her hips, she marched up to Steve, poking him in the chest. “I want my file.”

“It’s _my_ file.”

“About me.” She poked him again.

“That doesn’t make it any less mine and stop doing that. Your nails are sharp.”

“Are they?” A third poke.

“That’s how you’re playing it, huh? Fine.”

In a move too quick for her to react with more than a yelp, Steve grabbed the wrist of the hand poking him, tugged her forward, and crashed his lips against hers.

Damn him.

Under she went. His lips, his tongue, both were busy in the most toe-curling way. Steve’s arms kept Peggy pressed to him and it made her want to scream. Not from being manhandled because Steve’s grip was loose enough that she could escape if she so desired. He wasn’t the kind of man who would try to force a woman to do something against her will. Every kiss, every touch they’d shared was delivered in such a way that left no doubt of Peggy’s equal participation.

That was what made her want to scream. At herself for her weakness, and at Steve for reading her correctly.

One hand lowered to her waist, the other rose to her hair, holding her for a deeper kiss.

Peggy swallowed his moan, and he chased her lips, keeping them connected when she would’ve pulled away. Her effort to escape the embrace was meager at best, pathetic at worse. She told herself to stop, to push Steve away, to not wrap her arms around his neck, using it as leverage to rise onto her toes and get closer still.

One of them should’ve heard the front door open and close. They should’ve heard soft but detectable footsteps coming down the hall and into the dining room. They should’ve heard something other than their mingled breaths and pleasured groans. But they heard nothing outside of their bubble of want and desire.

That was until a floorboard behind her creaked and a person gasped, and then blurted, with her typical lack of tact, “He must have sucked all the oxygen from your brain, English, because that doesn’t look like Daniel to me.”

Well, that had Peggy and Steve pulling apart. Turning and patting down hair she probably only imagined was in disarray, she smiled at Angie. Her friend looked past Peggy, though, to Steve, mouth agape.

“Close your mouth, or you’ll catch flies.”

“B-but . . .” Angie stammered, pointing at Steve. “He can’t be here. He’s dead.” Her head cocked to the side, as if a little green alien had landed in the middle of their dining room. “And old. Hey, Peg, why were you kissing an old man?”

“Gee, thanks, Miss Martinelli.”

“Steve’s only ten years older than I am.”

“In Hollywood and without make-up, that’s downright ancient. Wait, you know who I am? And you called him Steve. You really are Captain America?” She stepped closer to Peggy, gaze moving from Steve back to her. “This is Steve Rogers?” she whispered, as if Steve wasn’t standing directly behind Peggy and could hear Angie perfectly fine, even without his enhanced hearing. “He’s the same skinny guy in the picture you keep in your desk at—”

Peggy slapped a hand over Angie’s mouth. “That’s quite enough from you. Yes,” she released Angie when she felt her mouth opening for a retaliatory nip, “this is Steve Rogers. Although, if anyone asks, he’s Steve Buchanan.”

“But how? I mean, great you’re alive, but how are you alive?”

“That’s classified information,” Peggy and Steve said at the same time.

“I can’t believe you two just did that. I guess that’s what happens when you swap tongues.”

Peggy wouldn’t blush. She turned to Steve. “Steve, this is Angela Martinelli, but it seems that information is in the file you _will_ give me.”

Always the gentleman, Steve reached around Peggy to shake Angie’s hand. If his body rubbed against hers while doing it, it had to be a mistake instead of an intentional act to keep her on the knife’s edge of her desire.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine.” Angie smirked at Peggy. “Or should I say the pleasure was all Peg’s.”

“Your friend is funny.”

“Only to you and her.” Peggy grabbed Angie’s hand and pulled her toward the threshold. “We’ll be right back, dar—Steve. You might want to check the meatloaf before it burns.”

Ignoring Angie’s protests and question of, “Why is he wearing my apron?” she hauled her out of the dining room, down the hall, and into Peggy’s bedroom. She promptly closed the door after them then plopped onto her bed, staring at the ceiling.

“He’s back.” The bed dipped beside her.

“I know.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“It is.”

A pretty, slim face loomed over her. “The last I heard, you had a cute boyfriend in LA. When did that change?”

Peggy’s grimace could’ve cut glass. “It hasn’t.”

“Planning on doing something about that? I never took you for the two-timing type.”

“I’m not. It all just kind of happened. Steve keeps kissing me.”

“And you keep letting him?”

“Precisely. I feel awful.”

Angie reclined next to Peggy, on her side and face propped in her hand. “You may feel awful but,” she pointed in the direction of Peggy’s closed door, “you looked happy a minute ago. So did he. That can’t be bad.”

“It is when I haven’t set things right between Daniel and me.” Peggy shifted on her bed, mirroring Angie’s position. “I need to call in a favor from Howard. Will you entertain Steve, while I make the call? I promise not to be long.”

“That’s the easiest thing I’ve been asked to do all day.” Angie jumped from the bed, lovely in a berry crepe Grable tea dress with seasonal print upper bodice.

Peggy sat up, taking more care with her dress than she had when she’d all but collapsed onto her bed. A rather large bed, she noted, viewing it through new, lust-filled eyes. She shook the thought away. “Rough rehearsal?”

“You could say that. But it’ll work itself out. It’s been nice not having to work yesterday and today. Did I tell you some fancy pants rented the automat for two evenings? One cook, one waitress, that’s all he asked for.”

“Yes, well, about that . . .”

Hands flew to thin hips. “Don’t tell me that’s where you were last night when I got home. I suppose those flowers I brought in were from your Captain America.”

“Steve’s not my Captain America.”

“Maybe not, but from the way he kissed you, he’s aiming to make you his Betty Carver.”

The pillow landed perfectly, right in Angie’s mocking face.

Angie laughed. “Steve is more of a dreamboat in person. You make your call, and I’ll get to know him.”

“No flirting.”

Angie’s posture shifted from relaxed to rigid, her face from jovial to serious. “ ‘Tell me something, gentlemen. Tell me, why it is that every man who seems attractive these days is either married or barred on a technicality?’ ”

 _Gentleman’s Agreement_ starring Gregory Peck, Dorothy McGuire, and John Garfield. Daniel had taken Peggy to see the picture before she returned to LA. In their own way, they could relate to the story about a reporter who pretended to be Jewish in order to cover a story on anti-Semitism. In so doing, he discovered the true depths of bigotry and hatred.

Peggy needed to speak with Daniel right away. An impersonal call wouldn’t do.

“You’re going to make it big one day.”

“From your lips to John Ford’s ears. Make your call, English.”

Peggy waited for Angie to close the door behind her, before picking up the phone and dialing Howard. Of course, it was Mr. Jarvis who answered.

“Stark residence. How may I be of assistance.”

“Good evening, Mr. Jarvis.”

“Hello, Miss Carter. It’s nice to hear your voice.”

Peggy wasn’t in such a hurry that she couldn’t exchange pleasantries with a man she thought of as an ally and friend. She asked after his wife, Ana, and he asked after Angie and Daniel, unknowingly circling back to the reason for her call.

“Yes, Miss Carter. I’ll get Mr. Stark for you. Hold please.”

Unsurprising, Howard took his sweet time getting to the phone. But his words of, “Hey, Peg, is everything all right?” reminded her why she counted Howard Stark as a true friend.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, Howard.”

“No gunshot or knife wounds?”

“Of course not.”

“No rebar through the side?”

“Must you remind me.”

“Yeah, I must. You need to take better care of yourself, pal. You’re the muscle to my brains and the brains at SSR. You’re wasted there, Peg. You know it, I know it, and so does Phillips. We gotta make moves. I’m glad you called because we have a lot to talk about.”

Before Howard could launch into rambling, disconnected details about his latest project, Peggy cut him off, a tad rude but it was Howard, after all. The man was oblivious to all social cues. Oblivious or outright ignored them. Some days, Peggy didn’t know which applied.

“We can talk about that when I return.”

“Where are you going?”

“LA, if you’ll allow me the use of your private plane.”

Peggy heard the clink of ice hitting against the side of a glass. “You just got back. Did that fool Flynn find two brain cells to rub together and finally realize he should’ve left you in the Golden State to help Daniel and the LA SSR office find Thompson’s murderer.”

Peggy wished that was the reason for her trip back to the West Coast. She hated the idea of Jack’s murderer on the loose. Jack deserved better, and Daniel would take any help he could get to solve the case. Jack and Daniel may have been opposites, in many ways, but they’d developed a friendship of sorts. When forced to rise to the occasion, Jack Thompson had proven to be a good man and a capable agent. She didn’t miss his misogynistic attitude, but he had a quick mind and a lacerating tongue Peggy respected.

“Personal trip, Howard, not professional. I won’t be in LA long. A night, most likely, if I’m able to leave tomorrow.”

“Something with Daniel then?”

Peggy said nothing. She did wonder how Angie and Steve were getting along. Famously, she concluded. Angie was the friendliest person Peggy knew, and Steve would likely pump her for any information about Peggy not in his file. A file, she told herself, that would find its way into her possession one way or another.

“Will you help me?”

“Sure, if you tell me what’s going on. You don’t sound like yourself.”

“Don’t you have someone waiting for you?”

“She’s drunk, and half asleep. I could strip her naked and—”

“Howard,” she snarled.

“Right. Okay, back to you and Daniel. What did he do?”

“Nothing.”

“Even better. What did _you_ do?”

Howard said that with such devilment she could hear the smile in his voice as he imagined them strolling arm-in-arm into Hell together. Pals to the fiery end.

Howard would know the truth soon enough, but not tonight.

“We’ll talk later, after you’ve spoken with a mutual friend."

“And the plot thickens. So, mysterious, Agent Carter. If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re tossing poor Sousa aside for a bloke with two good legs and a really big—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. And don’t say bloke. It doesn’t suit you. Yes or no, Howard. May I use your plane?”

“Yes, but I’ll be the one flying it.”

“I don’t want—”

“Take it or leave it. That’s my one condition for the favor and the secrets you’re keeping from me.”

Peggy didn’t like it, but she had little choice but to accept Howard’s terms. A last-minute round-trip fight would cost Peggy her right arm. This trip would still cost Peggy just not financially.

“Deal.”

His clap sounded through the phone. “Perfect. I’ll have Jarvis make the arrangements and pick you up at . . .?

“Nine tomorrow.”

“I hope you mean PM because my date just crawled into my bed naked and is giving me the best come hither look I’ve seen since last week.”

“You’re disgusting. AM, Howard. Be on time or hire a pilot.”

“Ballbuster.”

“Ass.”

Peggy placed the phone back on her nightstand. The conversation had taken considerably longer than expected. Without wasting more time, Peggy left her room and joined Angie and Steve for dinner.

Steve reached her chair first, pulling it out for her and pushing it in when she sat. A covered plate was already laid out, which Peggy appreciated. What she appreciated more were the conservative portions Steve had given her. Salad, sliced bread with butter, a cut apple, and a slice of ham had never looked more appetizing.

“We had all of this in our fridge?”

If Peggy’s and Angie’s plates consisted of normal portions, Steve’s plate could’ve eaten theirs and still been hungry, so much meatloaf and bread did he pile atop the china.

“Yeah, it’s called an Oslo meal. A quick, balanced meal of fruits and vegetables.” He shoved a forkful of meatloaf into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before resuming the conversation. “Ma did her best to make sure I got enough of both. With me being so small and sickly all the time, Ma was forever making Oslo meals. We stretched a lot.” A shrug. “Like I said, she did her best.”

“She did a wonderful job, Steve. You were strong long before you met Dr. Erskine.”

“So you say.”

“So I know.”

He pointed to himself. “4F, remember?”

She pointed at him, too, and said, “You jumped on what you thought to be a live grenade, remember?”

Another shrug. “I couldn’t let anyone get hurt. I did what anyone would’ve done.”

“No one else did it. But you did. Steve Rogers from Brooklyn. Those 4Fs you received were subpar measures of the man.”

He stared at her, and she stared right back.

Angie cleared her throat and, damn, Peggy had forgotten someone else was in the room with them.

“I have no idea what the two of you are talking about. And the way you are looking at each other, either you’ll test the durability of this table or set the drapes on fire when you combust. Either way, I won’t play witness. Not when a bed, that’s not this table, is calling me.” Grabbing her plate, Angie rushed from the room, telling Steve on her way out, “Nice to meet you, Old Man Rogers.”

Peggy smiled after her friend. If she didn’t love her dearly, she might have to strangle her.

“I’m leaving town tomorrow,” Peggy said before Steve launched into whatever he seemed about to say.

“Where? For how long?”

“I have to go into the office on Monday, so I’ll return sometime on Sunday.”

“A short trip, then. You haven’t told me where.”

“Yes.” Her pointed look told him to drop it. His frown told her he would but didn’t like not knowing. Peggy was fine with both. “Dinner was very good. Thank you.” She glanced at the dishes on the table. “Where’s dessert?”

Steve stood, sauntered from his side of the table to hers, and pulled out Peggy’s chair when he reached her. Kneeling in front of her, he leaned in close, hard abs on her knees. “There’s chocolate ice cream in the freezer. I could get it for you, if that’s the dessert you want tonight. If not, I’m sure we can figure something out that will satisfy you.”

Peggy gulped, and repeated a sentence that meant less after each recitation. “I’m in a relationship.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Jealousy. Frustration. Anger.

She’d felt every one of those emotions, when she’d stumbled upon him kissing Private Lorraine. They weren’t good feelings.

“May I see you off?”

“No. I’ll call you, when I’m ready.”

“When you’re ready? Not when you get back?”

“No, not when I get back.”

She could tell he wanted to argue. In fact, Steve parted his lips to do just that.

Peggy kissed him, taking the dessert he offered. But only a sample.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: LA, Daniel, and the Talk


	8. A Good Man But Not the Right Partner

“It’s kind of early for a cocktail, but I could pour you something. I still have the rest of that bottle of whiskey we drank from the last time you were here.” From his spot next to Peggy on the sofa, Daniel reached for his crutch beside him. “Or I could fix you a cup of coffee, with or without whiskey, if you like.”

He made to push himself up, but Peggy’s hand on his shoulder stalled his progress. “No, thank you, Daniel. No need to go through the trouble. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” He relaxed back onto the sofa but kept his hand on his crutch. “You sure look like you could use something, no offense.”

A sincere but weak smile followed his comment, and Peggy winced on the inside. She had called Daniel after landing in LA, requesting to see him as soon as he could make himself available. Considering Saturday was Daniel’s day off and Peggy’s visit unexpected, she couldn’t blame the man for thinking she needed a stiff drink. The circumstances that had Peggy at Daniel’s apartment at one in the afternoon, and she fighting the effects of jetlag, warranted a shot of something—caffeine, alcohol, courage.

“No offense taken. I do apologize for the last-minute trip. I should’ve called you last night before I made plans.”

“It’s fine, Peggy.” Daniel propped his crutch against the arm of the sofa and slid closer to Peggy. “It’s not like I’m unhappy to see you.”

The smile that had taken her months to realize meant more than professional kindness pierced her heart for all the affection she could no longer not see. Daniel closed the last few inches between them, and Peggy neither rejected the kiss to her neck nor the one to her cheek. But when Daniel cupped her face, his breath smelling of peppermint, his aftershave a spicy-citrusy scent, and his lips so very close to hers, a Tsunami of wrongness washed over her.

Peggy turned her face, denying Daniel’s kiss the way she hadn’t Steve’s.

Daniel’s hands dropped to his lap. Yet, he remained close, his eyes searching hers for a question he hadn’t voiced but an explanation he deserved to hear.

She wanted nothing more than to stand, pace, releasing her guilt and tension through physical acts. Instead, she reached for Daniel’s clenched fists, stopping him when he made to scoot back.

“What’s going on? Since when don’t you want me to kiss you?”

Oh, the difference a few days made in the heart of a woman. Some might say she was fickle. Perhaps even short-sighted, thinking the grass greener on the other side. However, Peggy knew better. She hadn’t suddenly switched her heart off to Daniel and on for Steve. The truth was that while she may have resigned herself to a future without Steve by her side, the deep feelings she harbored for him hadn’t abated.

Likely, with more time, the strength of their bond, her desire for Steve above any other man, would have lessened with each passing year, permitting Daniel, or someone else, to supplant Steve in her heart.

That had been Peggy’s unspoken hope when she’d poured the last of Steve’s blood into the East River, saying her final goodbye to the man she loved but lost. Steve was gone, and Peggy had needed to move on, despite her heart. She couldn’t live in the past, holding on to a dream that could never be. So, she had plowed forward with her life, like any good soldier would. Eventually accepting her ability to be attracted to and accept affections from men other than Steve Rogers—men like Daniel Sousa and Dr. Jason Wilkes.

With Steve’s return, he had breathed life into a dream she thought dead, unearthing the secret place where she’d hidden all things Steve Rogers. She had kept him tucked away in a part of her heart he would always hold. But she could no longer keep him relegated to that corner. Even if she tried, he would fight her for the right to consume the entire organ. No battle would be necessary because Peggy would willingly offer her heart to him.

As she watched Daniel, awaiting what Peggy would do or say next, she saw in him the same as she had the day she’d crossed the line from colleagues to more, and kissed him. That she could fall head over heels in love with Daniel Sousa. She also knew, no man could, not even Daniel, extinguish Steve from her heart. He would always remain with her, as would the image of the Steve Rogers she’d met years ago, questioning why a “beautiful dame” would join the Army.

It all seemed like a lifetime ago they’d sat beside each other in a car driving them toward a future that would too soon see them separated. Yet, by some miracle, and Steve’s sheer stubborn will, they had been reunited.

_" Women aren't exactly lining up to dance with a guy they might step on."_

_“You must have danced.”_

_“Well, asking a woman to dance always seemed so terrifying, and the past few years just didn’t seem to matter that much. I figured I’d wait.”_

_“For what?”_

_“The right partner.”_

Daniel wasn’t Peggy’s right partner. She knew, in time, he would find the woman who was. Daniel was too great of a catch for him not to. But he wouldn’t see what Peggy was about to do as a kindness to his future self but as an act of betrayal.

She had taken the cowards way out of her engagement to Fred, leaving him a Dear John letter instead of facing the man she’d agreed to wed. Fred had deserved much better, and so did Daniel.

“I didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone.”

“Is this about what happened a few days ago? About the meeting you had that you couldn’t tell me about?”

Daniel pulled his hands from Peggy’s, and she let him go. He also moved one sofa cushion away from her, adding a physical distance to the emotional one Peggy had already created.

“It is. I told you I would share what I could when able.”

“You didn’t have to fly all the way here for that. Unless it’s so secretive you felt it unwise to tell me over the phone. Is that it?”

“It is top secret, so I ask you not to breathe a word of it to anyone. So far, only Angie and I know. Who learns the truth, when, and how is his decision to make. Not mine and certainly not yours.”

She hadn’t meant the last part of her sentence to come out as an order bordering on a warning. From Daniel’s raised eyebrows, he’d taken it the way Peggy had heard it.

“It’s sensitive. So, please don’t speak a word of it to anyone.”

“Well, I would have to know what you’re talking about, wouldn’t I?”

“Right.” She cleared a throat in need of a hot toddy. “Well, I guess there is no other way of saying it, so I might as well get on with it. Steve Rogers . . . Captain America is alive.”

Like Angie, Daniel’s mouth fell open, but he closed it quickly. “I know you’re serious, but I still can’t believe my ears.” He shook his head as if that would help him shift the puzzle piece into place. “I guess Stark finally found him.” Daniel shook his head again. “I can’t believe he’s alive after two years of being gone.”

Peggy didn’t want to lie to Daniel, but she also couldn’t tell him the truth. She sidestepped the finer details of Steve’s return with, “Yes, it was quite the surprise.”

“A good surprise, though. I always hated how things ended for him. You know, one more casualty in a brutal war. Too many good men never came home. And some didn’t come back whole.”

He glanced down to his prosthetic leg.

Peggy did not. An awful thought did occur to her, though.

“Is he hurt? In the hospital?”

“No, he’s fine.”

A nod and then a snort she couldn’t decipher. “Of course he’s fine. He’s Captain America.”

“He’s Steve.” The automatic response slipped, unbidden, but it had landed where she would’ve never lobed it—at Daniel’s perceptive feet.

“I see. That’s what this visit is truly about. Your old flame is back, and I’m in the way.”

“That’s not it at all, Daniel.”

“It isn’t?” He straightened and his voice hardened. “Are you saying you didn’t fly across the country, when you were here not even a month ago, to break things off with me?”

Peggy must’ve paused too long because Daniel snatched up his crutch and pushed to his feet.

“It’s not like that.”

“I think it is. You forgot all about me on the phone that day, didn’t you? He came from wherever in the hell he’s been for two damn years, and you dropped everything and ran after him.”

“I didn’t run—”

“I’m such an idiot.” He stalked away from her, fast, angry limps that took nothing away from the strength of the agent. “I guess you were Cap’s girl, after all, just like Jack and the others said.”

“I’m going to give you that shot, Daniel.” Peggy stood, hands on her hips. “But only the one.”

He stopped, turned, and then stalked back to Peggy. “I thought you cared about me.”

“I do.” She contemplated touching his shoulder but thought better of it. “Daniel, I care about you very much.”

“Just not as much as you care about him, huh?”

What could Peggy say to that bit of hurtful truth?

“Daniel, please.”

“Does he know about me?”

“Yes. I told him I was in a relationship.”

“You’re here, so I guess our relationship doesn’t mean anything to you.”

“That’s not true. Daniel, look at me.” She tilted his chin up. His eyes had fallen to his partial leg, the lower half claimed by an explosive during the war. “I’m here because I care about and respect you.”

“Have you spent time alone with him?”

“A little.”

“Have you kissed him?”

An image of Peggy tossing caution to the wind and kissing Daniel to the point of knocking him onto his office chair crept into her mind, a memory, no doubt, that Daniel had also had because his question pointed to Peggy as the aggressor, not as a passive recipient.

She’d been both, including when she’d kissed Steve goodnight before pushing him out her door and into the hallway.

“Call me when you get back,” he’d told her, shoving a piece of paper into the palm of her hand. “I’m serious, Peggy. Call me.”

“I will.”

He’d stolen another kiss before leaving, a self-satisfied swagger taking him away from her and toward the elevator.

Daniel swore—foul words she hadn’t heard since the curtain closed on the war. “I can see the guilt written all over you. You won’t kiss me because you’ve been kissing him.” He backed away from her. “Great, just great. Captain America gets the girl, and the cripple gets dumped. Thanks for nothing, Peg. You can go now.”

“Daniel—”

“What?” he yelled. “What else is there to say? You could’ve spared yourself a trip and dumped me over the phone. It would’ve been kinder than seeing you pretend not to love him. Because you do. You didn’t say it. But you didn’t have to. I may have lost a leg, but I have two good eyes and ears. You care about and respect me. That’s Agent Carter speak for it was fun while it lasted, but my boyfriend’s back and you gotta go. I never had a fair chance at your heart.”

They stared at each other.

Peggy deserved his venom. She’d been sent to LA on a case but ended up interfering in Daniel’s relationship with Violet. It didn’t matter than she had taken no action in the ruination of his engagement. Her mere presence, and Daniel’s silent and suppressed feelings for Peggy, had been enough to drive a wedge between the two. How was that any different from their current situation with Steve? Except Peggy, unlike Daniel, had taken the initiative to end a doomed relationship.

She would neither string Daniel along nor keep Steve in a state of limbo.

Daniel slumped to his sofa, elbows on his knees and head hung low. She hadn’t wanted to cause him pain. For anyone other than Steve, she would’ve stayed. Peggy would’ve committed to growing their relationship, appalled at the thought of kissing anyone other than Daniel Sousa.

Yet, it wasn’t any man who challenged her future with Daniel. It was Steve—Peggy’s right partner. As much as it hurt her seeing how much her decision wounded Daniel, Peggy wouldn’t sacrifice her heart and happiness for him. She knew how fleeting life could be and how quickly a loved one could be snatched away, leaving those behind adrift in a stormy sea.

Peggy still mourned her brother, Michael, but he’d once told her, “Fred is a nice enough chap. But be honest. Is he the love of your life?”

Fred hadn’t been the love of her life and neither was Daniel. Not for the first time, Peggy wished she could introduce her brother to her Steve.

“Get out, Peggy.” Daniel lifted his dark head and eyes the color of regret met hers. “I can’t hate you for telling me the truth or for following your heart. But, right now, I can’t stand the sight of you. So,” he gestured toward the door behind her, “just get the hell out of my apartment.”

Peggy stepped forward, but Daniel waved to the door again.

“I don’t want your pity. I may be a cripple, but I’m still a man. Leave me with my pride.”

Still, Peggy found it difficult to leave Daniel like this, but he was right. She couldn’t make him hurt less and, if her presence worsened his pain, she needed to take her leave.

Peggy retreated to the door, her back to Daniel and her heart aching for having hurt a good man.

She exited his apartment, closing the door behind her. Peggy cringed when she heard his crutch hit the door and him yell, “Fucking Captain America. You should’ve stayed dead.”

When Peggy returned home on Sunday, she couldn’t bring herself to call Steve. She also didn’t call him on Monday or Tuesday. She did, however, return his call on Thursday.

“I want to come over.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You know why. It’s done. No more Daniel and me.”

“Oh, umm, I see. I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t.”

“I wasn’t trying to break the two of you up.”

“You were. But you couldn’t have if I felt strongly for him. If I loved Daniel. We both know I don’t.”

Steve had the good sense not to pretend he hadn’t taken deliberate steps to reveal the truth of Peggy’s heart to herself. His motives weren’t coy. Peggy had known his goal. She shouldn’t be upset with him for going after what he wanted, yet she was.

“You’re punishing me?”

“I’m punishing us both.”

Steve’s response reminded her, yet again, how different this Steve was from the young man she once knew.

“I’ve gotten good at being patient. I’ve waited a decade, Peggy. I can wait longer, if I must. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you again. You’re my best girl. My right partner. And, when you’re ready, I’d like to cash in that raincheck. If you still have that jaw-dropping red dress, I’d like to take you dancing.”

“The Stork Club.” She remembered. Peggy could never forget the date that had never been.

“Wherever you like. I don’t care, as long as there’s music and I get to hold you in my arms.”

There were no words for the way he made her feel, for the lump that formed in her throat and the pounding of her heart whenever she thought about a future with Steve Rogers.

“You’re my endgame, Peggy. You always have been.”

The man slew her. What else could she say but, “My darling.”


	9. Between Pals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard and Steve have a much-needed bro talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this chapter would be the final one in the story. That's no longer true. There will be at least one more chapter and then an epilogue. At least that's the plan. 
> 
> The end of the chapter begins to get into a more M rating. Next chapter, I'll change the rating from T to M. Finally, I quote a bit from Marvel One-Shot: Agent Carter. It's a cool 15-minute video worth watching. Here's a link: https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x27z5eg

“Can I get you a drink? I know you can’t get drunk . . .” Howard observed him, an eyebrow raised in question. “Unless that’s changed.”

Steve shook his head. “Not unless you got some Asgardian mead in one of those decanters.”

“Asgardian what? Never mind. If I can’t sample it or make my own, I rather not know what I’m missing out on.”

“You’re not missing much. It burns going down and burns coming back up.”

Howard laughed, handing Steve a glass of cold water with lime. They clinked glasses, the clear liquid in Howard’s not water but an early beginning to an evening hours away.

“Nice to have you back, pal.”

“It’s nice to be back.”

“Sit.” With the hand wrapped around his tumbler, Howard gestured to the plush-looking couch across from his desk.

Steve eyed the couch and then Howard. “Ah, no thanks.”

Howard scoffed, downing half his drink while smirking at Steve. “You and Peggy. She refuses to sit on my couch, too, saying something about not wanting to touch my “shag sofa.” Howard’s shrug, if not his words, conceded Peggy’s point. “She sometimes thinks the worst of me.” A second shrug followed a sip. “Peggy has saved my bacon more times than I used that couch for horizontal refreshment. She’s my best pal. I wouldn’t know what I’d do without her.” Howard slapped Steve’s shoulder. “The chairs in front of my desk don’t make for good play toys.”

“Meaning they’re clean?”

“Ah, yeah, sure. Let’s go with that.”

Steve eyed the three chairs in front of Howard’s desk, unsure they were any safer to sit on than Howard’s couch.

“The middle one.”

“What?”

“That’s where Peggy always sits. She once told me I was probably too lazy to move the chairs on the left and right to get to the one in the middle, especially if I were ‘trolleyed.’ “

The more Howard spoke of Peggy, the longer Peggy and Howard’s two years felt to Steve. Long before he’d gone into the ice, he knew, despite Howard’s flirting, that there was nothing romantic or sexual between Peggy and Howard. Back then, they had been allies, perhaps even friends. Their relationship was still platonic, but their friendship had strengthened by leaps and bounds. Knowing their history with SHIELD, Steve wasn’t surprised they’d grown closer. It only made sense that they had. But knowing and hearing the fondness and trust in Howard’s voice, each time he mentioned Peggy, had Steve feeling like the odd man out.

Trusting Peggy, Steve sat in the middle chair.

Howard finished off his drink, while Steve hadn’t taken a sip of his. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what brings you to my office?”

When Peggy had returned from what Steve had later learned to be a trip to LA to see Chief Daniel Sousa, the plane she’d taken owned and flown by Howard Stark, Steve had decided it was a perfect time to let Howard know he was alive. Over the last month, he’d done the same with the Howling Commandos, learning from a too-brief conversation with Peggy of Juniper’s death in Belarus at the hands of a girl trained at the Red Room Academy.

Steve had cried that night—for Juniper and for Natasha.

“Have you seen Peg lately?”

“Not really. We don’t exactly travel in the same social circles. But I’ve convinced her to have dinner with me once a month. When she’s on a case and Jarvis helps her, we see each other more often.”

Leaning back in his chair, Howard propped his feet on the edge of his desk, the epitome of a man of wealth and leisure. At that moment, he reminded Steve so much of Tony. Steve knew the future was already set, no matter what he might do in the past. While Steve had no desire to go around playing God, poking at spots in history he thought needed changing but with no clue as to the ramifications if they were changed, there were a great many things he wished could be different. Tony’s relationship with Howard being one. Hydra’s torture and use of Bucky as a weapon to kill Howard and his future wife being another.

Steve couldn’t alter any of those future events, no more than he had the power to prevent Peggy from getting Alzheimer’s. He despised each of those awful life occurrences, as much as he did dozens more-assassinations of political and civil rights leaders, epidemics, acts of terrorism, and countless wars that began in the hearts and minds of both the intolerant and the oppressed. Steve could do nothing but live through them all, reassured that no matter the obstacles, humanity would prevail.

So, would Steve and Peggy. But it was hard to remember that when Peggy had kept their contact to a minimum the last four weeks.

“I guess you haven’t seen her either.”

“No.” Tired of holding the full glass, Steve drained the water then placed it between his parted feet on the floor. “She told me she needed space, and that she’s punishing us both.”

“Yeah, the fairer sex loves punishing men. For all that Peggy isn’t like the average woman, she knows how to twist a man’s balls better than any female I know.”

“That’s not exactly the part of my anatomy that’s twisted in knots.”

“Yeah, yeah, your heart, I get it.” Howard’s smirk reappeared. “If you’re wondering, I’m pretty sure Peggy didn’t sleep with Sousa.”

“I wasn’t wondering.”

“Liar.”

“It’s none of my business if she did sleep with him.”

“You say that.” Howard nodded to Steve’s right hand gripping the arm of his chair. “That’s expensive. Try not to break it like a twig.”

“Okay, fine. I don’t like thinking about Peggy with another man.”

“Sousa is an upstanding guy. Boring as dishwater but a good guy. Not as good a fit for our Peg than you or me, but not a bad second choice.”

“Did you tell Peggy that?”

Howard grinned widely. “You see these chompers? They’re still straight and in my mouth.”

Peggy hadn’t knocked out Hodge’s teeth, but she had set him on his ass with a single punch. The thought always had Steve smiling.

“She has a mean right punch.”

Howard rubbed his jaw. “Don’t I know it. You got off lucky.”

“She shot at me. How is that getting off lucky?”

Howard lifted a finger. “You had an impenetrable shield to hide behind.” A second finger rose to join the first. “She could’ve shot you when you weren’t holding the shield. Hell, Peg could’ve killed you in your sleep.”

“Thanks a lot. So, umm, I can’t believe I’m asking you this but how do you know Peggy and Daniel never . . . you know?”

“Didn’t make the beast with two backs?”

Something else Tony had in common with his father. Both had a way of choosing the most inappropriate way of expressing themselves for greatest effect.

Steve blushed, although he tried not to.

“That’s the most old Steve thing I’ve seen you do since returning from the future. Are you sure I can’t convince you to tell me how you managed time travel? We could be rich.”

“You’re already rich.”

“Your point?”

“Back to Peggy and Daniel.”

Howard slipped from behind his desk and sat in the chair to Steve’s far left. “I knew the first time I saw Sousa and Peggy together that the guy had a crush on her. Between you and me, the lot of those SSR agents have a thing for our Peg, but she scares the bejesus out of them. I can’t say I blame them. When she gets going, the woman won’t stop until she’s made her point. She’s stubborn as hell, which is hard to argue against since she’s right most of the damn time.”

Steve let Howard go on for a few minutes, hoping he’d eventually segue back to Steve’s embarrassing question. It really was none of his business. Like his file on Peggy, his question was an invasion of privacy.

“Anyway,” Howard said five minutes later, “Sousa had a crush, which Peggy either flatly ignored or didn’t notice in the beginning. Obviously, that changed in LA. I knew better than to ask Peggy for details. She didn’t even tell me you were back. I’m still kinda hurt about that one, pal, but I’ve forgiven you both.”

“Howard.”

“Right. Sousa. Yeah, she dumped him. I had no idea that’s what she intended on doing when she asked for the use of my plane. I followed her to his apartment building and waited for her to come back out. She frowned when she saw me, but she also let me buy her a drink. I think she was more upset about hurting and disappointing Sousa than actually losing him from her life.”

“And that’s why you don’t think they slept together?” Weak reasoning, even for Howard.

“You have enhanced vision, my friend, so I know you’ve seen what a knockout Peggy is.”

“Sure, she’s beautiful.”

“Understatement of the century. But you’re Erskine’s good man, so I don’t expect you to say all the other things you think about Peg. But, ah, let’s just say that if Sousa ever got so fortunate as to have Peggy take him to bed he wouldn’t have let her go so easily. Pride be damned, he would’ve gotten on his hands and knees, begging her to stay.”

Howard swung his head to the closed office door as if Peggy would materialize and knock his teeth down his throat for talking about her relationship with Daniel in a somewhat sleazy but strangely accurate way.

Satisfied Peggy wouldn’t appear like an avenging feminist angel, Howard shifted back to Steve, a mischievous grin that said he’d done something naughty but had gotten away with it. Then, Howard sobered, his voice taking on a serious tone.

“Listen, Peggy’s been through a lot these past two years. I haven’t helped, either, by getting myself into more trouble than I should’ve. She held on to you longer than I’ll say. I won’t lie, I was happy for Peg. Sousa’s vanilla but, with me in her life, Peg could use a bit of vanilla to offset her rocky road, if you know what I mean.”

Yeah, Steve knew what Howard meant. His return had disrupted Peggy’s life right at a time she’d begun to heal from his death.

“This is the thing, though, a woman like Peg can only stomach vanilla for so long. If I could’ve talked Jarvis into betting me, I would’ve given the relationship a year. Two max, before Peggy realized Sousa wasn’t the man for her—no matter that he is sweet, nice, and totally in love with her. Your return sped up the timetable on the break-up. That’s not your fault.”

“She blames me, at least a little, for hurting Daniel.”

“You got it wrong.”

“I don’t think—”

“Trust me, pal, you got it wrong. Peggy will tell you the truth when she’s ready. I know I’ve said a lot, all of which, if Peggy had been a fly on the wall, would’ve resulted in Jarvis having to feed me through an IV, but I know my place. Explaining to you why Peggy has been MIA is definitely not my place. Tell you what, though.”

Howard jumped to his feet and all but skipped around his desk and to the phone.

“You know where Peg works, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to make this call. In typical Peggy Carter fashion, she went it alone, nearly getting herself killed but ultimately successfully completed her mission--recovering a deadly liquid weapon known as Zodiac.”

Steve knew all about Zodiac. Him, Natasha, and Rumlow had returned Zodiac to SHIELD custody after it was stolen by the terrorist Baker. What Steve hadn’t known was that Peggy was the reason SHIELD had possession of Zodiac in the first place. He may have had a file on Peggy, but he’d refrained from peeking into every aspect of her life. Despite what she thought, Steve had only researched enough of her life to help him when he first returned to 1947.

In fact, beyond Sharon Carter, Steve hadn’t met any other member of Peggy’s family. A part of him hadn’t wanted to delve into the life she’d led after he’d gone into the ice. It was enough to know she’d found love and had been happy, even if he hadn’t been the one she’d grown old with.

She’d lived. She’d loved.

Steve hadn’t done either.

He’d fought. He’d saved lives. Both mattered. But neither completed him.

“Who are you calling?”

Howard smiled what Steve could only think of as a shit-eating grin.

“You’ll see, pal. I’m going to make a grown man regret being an ass to our favorite agent and make our Peg smile.” Howard dialed. “Who am I speaking to?”

Howard held the phone’s receiver out so Steve could hear. He must’ve remembered the serum had given Steve enhanced hearing because he did that smirk again and pressed the phone back to his ear.

“This is Agent Flynn.”

“This is Howard.”

“Sir,” the faceless agent squeaked, clearly impressed yet stunned to find himself speaking to none other than the infamous Howard Stark.

Steve grunted.

“I was expecting—”

“I have orders for Agent Carter,” Howard interrupted, winking at Steve as he spoke over Agent Flynn, uncaring what the man had to say.

“If this is about last night, rest assured she will be properly disciplined.”

That sentence had Steve sliding to the edge of his seat, disliking a man he’d never met but also worried about Peggy’s well-being. What had happened last night? And why did Agent Flynn think it warranted disciplinary action?

“I’d say that last night was more a notch in her belt than a feather in her cap.”

“Yes, sir, what are your orders?”

“Phillips and I want her to come to Washington.”

Howard smiled at Steve, and he returned his friend’s smile. He knew this part, although not the finer details of how it had all played out.

The beginning of SHIELD—Howard Stark, Colonel Chester Phillips, and Margaret Carter.

“Say again?”

“Tell her she’ll be running SHIELD . . . with me.”

Steve’s heart pounded. For everything that Hydra would eventually do to ruin what SHIELD stood for, they couldn’t take away the soul and passion behind its founding. This moment, with Stark throwing his power around in the name of friendship and a dream for a better, safer world, Steve couldn’t have been prouder to have been an Avenger.

“Agent Carter?” Agent Flynn asked, disbelief in his voice.

“And Flynn . . .”

“Yes, sir?”

“Let her know you are honored to bring her the news.”

Howard could really be a bastard, when he wanted to stick it to someone. From the sound of Agent Flynn, he deserved the weight of an arrogant Howard Stark.

“You want me to say that verbatim?”

Not bothering to answer, Howard hung up.

“Well, that felt good. Tell Peggy she can thank me by bringing you with her to DC.” Howard flopped onto his executive leather chair. “Why are you still here?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Flynn’s a prick, but he’ll follow my orders.”

“And?”

“And you need to high tail it over to the phone company to meet Peggy. She walks damn fast, you know.”

“But that’s miles away.”

Howard tapped his watch. “You better get going, Captain America.”

“I’m no longer Capt—hell, yeah, I better go.”

“That’s the spirit. Oh," Howard yanked opened a drawer, grabbed a fistful of . . .

Face hot from embarrassment, but forever hopeful, Steve shoved the items into his pants pocket. 

"Smart man." Howard's pat on the back sent him out the door. “See you in DC.”

From Howard’s mouth to Peggy’s ears.

Steve ran at a speed that should’ve had him catching Peggy before she left work but didn’t. That was fine because he knew where he could find her.

A short while later, Steve stood in front of Peggy’s apartment door, knocking loudly.

He heard her approach and waited for her to spy him through the peephole. Steve knocked again in case she was contemplating not answering.

The door swung open. “Bloody hell, Steve,” she said, but with none of the anger he’d expected. Peggy stepped back, permitting him to enter. Dark eyes raked over him. “You’re sweating.”

“Yeah.”

“And breathing hard.”

“That too.” Steve stepped closer, liking how Peggy’s nostrils flared and she sucked in a breath. “I’ve missed you.”

“You ran all the way here?”

“Yeah.”

Peggy’s hand moved from her side to his chest, sliding from his throat to his stomach and back up, a languid trek that had him breathing hard for a different reason. All of a sudden, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him toward her, kissing Steve with a hunger that matched his.

They’d never kissed like this before—rough, hard, and damn near bruising.

Peggy pushed him against the door, forcing it closed with his back. She didn’t relent in the kiss nor in the hands raking up his chest, over shoulders, and down arms.

“I missed you too,” she said against his neck, biting him after the confession. She kissed where she’d bitten then bit him again--hard and deep.

Steve moaned, and Peggy did it over and again, taking her teeth to his tough skin and making him cry out in pleasure.

“Shit, Peggy. Peg.”

Damn, with a few kisses and bites, she’d turned him into a blubbering idiot. Yeah, Howard had been right. If Peggy had slept with Daniel, no way would the man have accepted her breaking up with him without lifting one finger to fight for their relationship. Steve had done far more than that with only a single, brief kiss between them.

“Steve, I want you.”

“I want you to.”

Spinning her around, Peggy’s back to the door, Steve dropped to his knees.


	10. Shakespeare in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Peggy have their dance, metaphorically speaking. 
> 
> Please note the change from Teen rating to Mature. Enjoy the sexy interlude!

* * *

If Peggy needed more evidence that the Steve who had crashed the Valkyrie into the Arctic wasn’t the same Steve who had returned to her, she wouldn’t any longer, not after he dropped to his knees, shoved up her dress, and disappeared under it. Strong yet gentle hands glided from Peggy’s shaking knees to her trembling thighs, then up to her quivering sex.

One finger. Two fingers. Rubbing back and forth, between her legs and over her silk-covered lips. Peggy’s moan came out as a needy sigh. God, who knew an artist’s fingers could draw such wonderful designs beyond a canvas. Yet, the way Steve’s fingers explored her, circling and tracing, he’d turned Peggy’s lower body into his personal sketchbook.

“You feel so good.” Voice muffled against the mouth he’d pressed to her center, Steve kissed her there, and Peggy thought her legs would melt to butter. “Smell good. Sound even better. I like the way you say my name when I do this.”

He kissed her center again, pressing his lips and lingering through the long length of her moan.

Peggy’s head fell against the door, and she tried to remember how to breathe.

“I know you’ll tell me to stop, if I do something you don’t want me to do.”

The bulge under her dress that had been Steve’s head and shoulders disappeared. Hair mussed, he smiled up at her.

“We’re going to do this.”

Peggy nodded, unsure she could speak with the way her body still trembled. Every nerve ending screamed for Steve to continue, to slake Peggy’s repressed need, giving her a Steve-induced release years in the making. Only her woman’s pride and the fact that it seemed Steve had something he wanted to say first, kept Peggy from pouting her displeasure and shoving Steve back under her dress.

“Before we do, before we fuck each other into the next century, there’s something I’ve waited years to say to you.”

Steve stood, his tall, brawny frame as delicious as the lips that had teased and tempted. Peggy’s eyes drifted to said lips. She wanted them on her again, so she went on tiptoe and took them. So soft. How could a man as strong as Steve have such tender lips?

Wait, had Steve said _fuck_? He had, and they would. Yet another piece of evidence that this wasn’t the Steve Peggy had once known. Something about that truth saddened her, but not enough to have her withdrawing from the kiss or halting the hands unbuttoning his shirt and pushing the garment off his body.

Peggy got lost in the taste of his lips and the glorious sensation of touching him after all this time. God, could Steve get any sexier?

“You’re killin’ me here, Peg. I need . . . oh, shit, that’s really good.”

She’d cupped him through his trousers, his semi-hard erection a temptation she could no longer deny. With a firm gentleness, she rubbed and squeezed, and Steve moaned and growled into her neck where he’d lowered his head.

For all that her back was pressed against the front door and Steve’s massive body caged her in, it was Peggy who was in control. She relished the power she had because Steve had gifted it to her as a silent form of trust.

“I feel as if I’ve loved you forever.” Steve’s head rose, and his earnest blue eyes, combined with what he’d said, froze Peggy. “I loved you when you demanded Howard turn off the reactor when it was clear I was in pain. You never viewed me as a lab rat, as an unimportant skinny kid from Brooklyn. You never tried to make me feel little in your presence.”

Peggy’s heart raced, Steve’s declaration the only thing capable of cutting through her lust-fogged brain.

“I loved you when you looked at my drawing of the dancing monkey, knowing, without being told, how I allowed others to lock me away in a box of their making, denying me sun and purpose.”

Soft, warm lips, that left Peggy feeling cherished, kissed her.

“I loved you when you stayed on the radio with me, your voice all the additional courage I needed to go through with the tough call. I’m sorry for making you listen to all of that, for keeping you close when I knew, when we both knew, I wouldn’t be able to make our date and so much more.”

Her eyes closed. She had sat in the control room for hours after Steve’s connection had gone dead. It wasn’t until Colonel Phillips had returned, sympathy and sadness in his eyes, his normally gruff voice soft when he told her, “You did your best, Peggy. You gave Rogers peace in his final minutes. Go get some sleep. We’ll begin ironing this mess out tomorrow.” To date, Peggy could count on a single hand how many times Phillips had called her by her first name, with fingers to spare. She hadn’t been able to sleep, though.

_"I'll-I'll get Howard on the line. He'll know what to do."_

_"There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York. I gotta put her in the water."_

_"Please don't do this. W-we have time. We can work it out."_

They’d neither had the time nor could they work it out. It had taken Peggy a very long time to accept that truth. In her darkest hours, she still blamed herself for not saving him.

Peggy opened tear-filled eyes.

Steve kissed her—a sweet peck. “I loved you when I awoke in the future, confused about everything else except for that one, indelible fact. I loved you as an older Peggy, your presence in the future the tether I needed to go on.”

“Steve I—”

He kissed her again. “Shh, not yet. I need to finish. I need you to know. I don’t want there to be any doubt about how I felt for you then, how I feel for you now, or how I will feel about you in the future.”

By the time he finished laying his heart bare, Peggy would be a watering pot in need of a handkerchief.

Steve took her face in both his hands, pressing a kiss to her lips and saying, “And I love you now. Not as the young man I used to be, but as the seasoned male I’ve grown into. I didn’t come back for a single dance, Peggy, a twirl around the Stork Club and a goodnight’s kiss.” He pulled back, eyes as moist as hers. “I came back for you, for me, for us, for a future I’ve seen but have yet to live.”

Steve grinned, his past and present selves blending together in a soul-fluttering, heart-pounding gesture that only he could evoke within Peggy.

“Between you and Howard, I don’t think I’ll get a word in edgewise.”

“I had a lot to say.”

“Apparently.” Peggy pulled Steve’s head back down to hers. “If you’ll forgive me, darling. I would rather like to keep my declaration shy of a dissertation.”

“ ‘Brevity is the soul of wit.’ ”

“Shakespeare. Was it not also Shakespeare,” she said,” already knowing it was, “who said that ‘one half of me is yours, the other half yours; Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours; And so all yours.’ ”

There went Steve’s grin again. “ ‘Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, Did my heart fly at your service,’ ”

“ ‘Doubt that the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move his aides; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.’ ” Peggy hoped her smile extended the same wellspring of feelings as Steve’s. “I love you, darling. Not even William Shakespeare could write a truer prose. I simply love you, and that is that, Steven Grant Rogers.”

“That is that, huh?”

She nodded, quite overcome by the whole exchange. How long had it taken them to reach this place? Too long for Peggy’s taste, and even longer for Steve.

Steve nuzzled her neck, treating it to worshipful kisses. “Now, about us fucking each other into the next century.”

“Your mouth, darling, is absolutely filthy.”

“My mouth is going to be all over you, so you might as well get used to it.” To emphasize his point, apparently, his tongue snaked out, licking down her neck to the top of her décolletage. “We’re going to start here. Where we end up, however, is up to you.” Glancing to his bare chest, the grin that followed could only be described as wolfish. “Since you’ve removed an item of my clothing, it’s only fair I get to take off one of yours.”

Peggy thought Steve would help her out of her dress. Instead, he knelt in front of her again, hands going immediately under her dress. Within seconds, he had her out of her knickers, the crouch damp from her arousal.

“Steve . . .”

“I’ll make it good for you. I promise,” he said, ducking his head under her dress once more. Big, possessive hands went to her thighs and parted them for him.

Peggy didn’t doubt Steve’s ability to leave her boneless, her womanly juices a testament to his efforts. But they really should retreat to her bedroom. Angie would be home soon, and the last thing Peggy wanted was for them to be caugh—

Soft, probing lips kissed Peggy, shutting down all higher-order brain functions. He kissed her again and again, no hesitancy in his touch, in the way his mouth moved up and down her slick folds.

Peggy couldn’t help it, her eyelids slid closed, and she gave in to Steve’s ministrations.

Intense kisses turned into purposeful licks. Steve’s tongue slipped between her folds, compelling Peggy to widen her stance. And, bloody hell, her fanny had never creamed like this for anyone.

Hands clamped onto Peggy’s hips, pulling her hard against his mouth—ravenous and as busy as a beaver.

“Steve . . . Steve . . .” Her voice cracked, along with her mind, and her knees threatened to buckle.

He kept going, gripping her arse and giving her the best Aussie kiss. When Steve lifted her right leg onto his shoulder, giving him greater access, Peggy nearly came from the change in angle. His tongue slipped inside, and she could’ve sworn she saw stars. If not stars, Steve had definitely catapulted her to the moon.

Peggy rocked into Steve’s mouth, but the position wasn’t ideal for equal participation. Besides which, pride aside, Peggy’s legs wouldn’t hold her for much longer.

As perceptive as ever, Steve stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to take a facer, if you don’t let me down.”

“Facer, huh? That gives me an idea.” He popped from under her dress. “Let’s get this off you.”

With a few deft movements, Steve had rid Peggy of her clothing, garments strewn about the foyer. When he stared at her, seeing Peggy naked for the first time, a bubble of self-consciousness formed in her stomach. But it was quickly doused when Steve wrapped her in his arms and kissed her deeply.

“You’re so damn gorgeous, Peg. Sexy as hell. I want to devour every inch of you, and then do it over and over. But first, you mentioned something about a facer.”

Pulling her to her knees, Steve situated himself on his back, the crown of his head a mere few feet from the door.

“All aboard the Steve Rogers Express.”

“What?”

“Facer, remember?” Steve pointed to his lips and mouth. “Right here, Peg. Come ride me. Don’t act as if you don’t want to.”

Ah, hell yes, she did want to but . . . “I’ve never done what you’re suggesting.”

“Then it’s a first for both of us. Stop thinking about doing it, and just do it. Afterward, you can ride me in another way.”

Peggy did not recognize this Steve Rogers, but she sure as hell liked him. She got on the Steve Rogers Express—awkward to be over him this way, but the strangeness of the position drained away the second Steve sucked her clit into his mouth. Peggy screamed from the sensation, eyes rolling back in her head.

The position made it easier on Peggy’s legs, her knees on either side of Steve’s head, the palms of her hands on the closed front door. Peggy rocked against his mouth, tongue, and nose, careful not to smother him but taking all the pleasure he offered.

Steve’s tongue was a steady piston going in and out of her, simulating the other ride they would take. At the thought of having Steve’s hard, long, length in her Peggy moaned and her lower belly began to tighten.

One finger then two breached her sex, and Steve was fucking her with his fingers. His mouth found her unsheathed clit again and sucked with such intensity Peggy screamed and screamed, her orgasm right there.

There.

The door pushed in, hitting Steve on the head. At the same time, Peggy’s palms slammed back on the door, closing the few inches it had opened.

“Hey, what’s wrong with the door? English, is that you?”

“Yes, yes,” Peggy moaned, chasing her orgasm.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t. Don’t.”

“I’m not stopping,” Steve whispered at the same time Angie asked, “You don’t want me to come in? Why? What’s going on?”

Peggy couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop. All she could do was keep her hands pressed against the door, and ride Steve’s fingers and mouth with abandon.

Wave after wave of pleasure smashed into and over Peggy, drowning out Angie’s concerned voice and the apology and excuses she’d have to make to her friend. But not now. Later. Yes, later when Steve’s masterful fingers weren’t buried deep in her, and his mouth wasn’t holding her clitoris as a willing hostage.

“If you open the door before I’m finished, I _will_ kill you.”

How Peggy managed to breathe out that threat through her roiling orgasm, she would never know, but Angie had gone silent and the pressure on the door had ceased.

Steve laughed, and even that felt good on her sensitive skin. He kissed her again, but with none of the ferocity he’d used to bring her to and push her over the edge of long-deprived decadence.

Peggy collapsed on Steve’s sweaty chest, languid but far from sated.

Loving arms wrapped around her. “That was a great start. Better than any dream I’ve had. But I want you in a bed.”

Peggy wanted him the same way. She sat up, moaning when she inadvertently straddled the part of Steve’s anatomy she wanted in her more than his fingers.

“Peggy,” Steve warned, his own moan more of a wince. “Watch where you sit, or your roommate will spend the evening in the hallway while we have each other right here and now.”

“Oh, is that right?” Peggy shifted down Steve’s body, pleased when his eyes followed her every move then dropped to breasts she wanted between his hands, her nipples in his delectable mouth.

The thought spurred Peggy into action.

She jumped to her feet, nearly falling arse over tits, her legs like jelly. Steve caught her, his self-satisfied grin at how thoroughly he’d wrecked her annoyingly adorable. She smacked his chest, immediately regretting the affectionate touch because his pecs were slick and so very lickable.

Her mouth watered at the thought of having him in her mouth, and not just his pecs.

“Give us two minutes to clear out of the foyer,” Peggy said to Angie, her voice raised so she could be heard through the closed door.

“Sex in the foyer, English. Please tell me that’s the only place, outside of your bedroom, where you and Old Man Rogers have been.”

Peggy didn’t dignify that with an answer. Not that, after getting caught riding Steve’s face, Peggy had any dignity left. Scooping up her dress and underthings, Peggy rushed into her bedroom, chased by Steve, and naked except for her high heels.

"This is my roo— _oompf_." Steve covered her mouth with his, the door barely closed before he attacked her. He was half-naked. Peggy intended on changing that bit of inequality. Making haste, she undid his buckle, button, and zipper with the same impatient speed he’d used to get her naked.

His pants dropped, and Steve toed out of his loafers and kicked off his trousers.

Unable to resist, Peggy pushed him away from her so she could get a good look. What an impressive sight Steve Rogers made—muscles upon muscles. Peggy licked her lips. “You’re magnificent.”

“So are you.”

“Big everywhere, and don’t you dare say ‘so are you.’ “

Steve eyed her breasts. His own tongue peeked out, running from one side of his lips to the other, likely tasting her on him.

Peggy shivered.

“You’re big in all the right places. Toned and fit in others. Don’t hate me for Howard’s presumption, but he made me take a few from his personal stash before I ran after you.”

Peggy watched as Steve bent, retrieved his trousers, and dug something from one of the pockets. Opening his palm, he revealed what Howard had given him.

Embarrassment bloomed anew. Yet, without the man-whore that was Howard Stark, they would have to halt and run an errand to the drugstore. Thanks to Howard, they didn’t have to, so Peggy stowed her embarrassment in exchange for grudging gratitude.

Steve tore open the packet and handed the rubber to Peggy. “Do the honors?”

She gulped, her focus on the todger she very much wanted to explore now that she had him starkers. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure if I don’t have your hands on me in the next twenty seconds that I’m starting without you.”

“So dramatic.” Peggy got on with it, taking her sweet time rolling the rubber on Steve. Gripping him tightly, squeezing with firm pressure a man of his girth would appreciate, smiling at Steve’s tortured groan, Peggy enjoyed every second of the honor Steve had indeed granted her.

“I’m going to make you pay for that.”

“Promises, promises.”

Steve lifted Peggy off her feet, and only her military training prevented her from squeaking her surprise. Arms found purchase around his neck, while legs went around his lean waist, locking at the ankles as Steve lowered her onto him.

He stopped, bottoming out and filling Peggy completely with his long, thick hardness.

“Shit, Steve, that’s . . . that’s . . . you feel so . . .” There were no coherent words to be found in the space between where they were connected and Peggy’s brain.

“Yeah,” Steve grunted, sounding just as awed by their joining as Peggy. “This one is going to be fast and hard.”

“How many rubbers did Howard give you?”

Peggy thought Steve would use the door behind her as leverage. Instead, he held Peggy tightly around her waist, walked the short distance to her desk, shoving papers out of the way, and deposited her there, all without breaking their connection.

“Enough for us to christen every piece of furniture in your bedroom, including the floor and the door I just had you against.”

She kissed him. There was nothing else to do when a man outlined an evening of fucking and lovemaking but to get on with it.

Face-to-face, breasts pressed to chest, Peggy and Steve fucked hard and fast on a desk Peggy would never view the same again.

Steve took her on a ride, slamming into Peggy with delicious force. Over and again, hips surged forward, taking Steve deep and wringing everything from Peggy.

She pulled him even closer, hands on his arse and mouth fused to his. Their tongues tangled—licking and dueling.

The desk under Peggy moved backward, hitting into the wall from the force of Steve’s thrusts. He didn’t stop, and she was grateful for his single-mindedness.

In and out. In and out. In and out. “Yes, Steve, yes.” Breaths escaped in harsh exhalations, only to be swallowed by Steve’s wonderfully greedy kisses.

For the second time in less than an hour, Peggy felt the telltale signs of her impending orgasm. She clenched around Steve, an involuntary but succulent response to how well he fucked her.

“That feels so much better on my dick than it did on my fingers. Come for me, Peggy. Come for me. Milk me. Give me all of you.”

Steve already had all of her. He’d had her love and affection long before he’d made the ultimate sacrifice.

No, Peggy would never think of her writing desk in the same way again.

She came, spasming around Steve’s trodger . . . his dick. Then Steve was coming too, powering into Peggy with such force it triggered another orgasm.

And another.

And another.

“Peggy!” Steve shouted, emptying himself, body taut, brow wet, eyes shut.

Peggy was nearly overcome at how much like his original self he appeared in the throes of his release—determined, vulnerable, and with a streak of focused rebellion.

Peggy kissed him through the waning of his orgasm. She kissed him again after he took care of the rubber. Then again when he settled them atop her bed, the second rubber on and him ready to go again.

Peggy sent a silent prayer of thanks to Dr. Erskine.

She mounted her Steve and— _Mmmm, so damn good_. The soreness she would feel in the morning from being stretched so deliciously and indulging her carnal nature with a super-soldier would be well worth the inconvenience of temporary paralysis.

Peggy leaned over Steve, and he promptly took a nipple into his mouth. One hand on her arse, the other fondling the breast not in his mouth, Steve gorged himself on tactile stimuli.

So did Peggy. She set a moderate pace, not wanting to come too soon but also uninterested in taking it slow. She would have to apologize to Angie and gift Howard with a bottle of his favorite scotch. They would give her an earful—snarky, loud, and tactless the both of them. But they would also be happy for her and Steve. Howard a little too happy, but she could handle him. She had no choice. He had requested her presence in DC, and Peggy was all too happy to leave Agent Flynn and the SSR behind.

Steve smacked her arse, which got her going double-time. On the balls of her feet, Peggy rode Steve the way he’d fucked her on the desk—hard and fast. Within minutes, they found mutual release.

Sprawled faced down, Peggy tingled all over, her body coated in a fine sheen of sweat. She went willingly, if not eagerly, when Steve pulled her onto her hands and knees and entered her from behind.

Breasts swayed, as did Steve’s balls she felt between her legs each time he thrust into her. Hands fisted sheets, hair a riot of brown fell into her face, Peggy pushed back with a force that earned her a deep-throated moan from Steve.

“Yeah, like that. Give it to me just like that.”

Peggy did, getting the ultimate cardio workout with Steve Rogers, quite literally, at her back. She drove onto him, and he drove into her, a mutually pleasurable exchange between equals.

The bed fared better than the desk, although the headboard only made its crashing against the wall that much louder.

She gripped it, a second after Steve’s hand moved between her legs, found her clit and tumbled her over the edge once more.

Peggy thought Steve would follow, but he didn’t.

Turning her onto her back, Steve wedged himself between her parted thighs. Being pinned down by a man had never felt so good . . . or so safe.

“I want to see your face. The face of the woman of my dreams.”

“Oh, darling.”

Running a hand through damp hair and gazing up into blue eyes that saw not only her current self but also the future Peggy Steve had studiously avoided talking about, she knew he’d experienced her death the same as she’d experienced his. She didn’t require the words.

It had taken her a month to come to terms with Steve waiting two years to return to her, when he could’ve used the Pym Particles to travel to any time of his choosing. But Steve had chosen two years after his death. Two bloody years of Peggy mourning and missing him. Two years of regrets. She should’ve told him how she felt. They should’ve told each other. For once, permitting words to speak louder than actions. The actions had been there between them, but the words would’ve been even better.

“Why did you stay away for two years?” Not the opportune time to have this conversation. But the man was buried as deeply inside Peggy as he could go. Why not add emotional intimacy to their physical one?”

Despite her question, Steve didn’t stop moving. He only slowed his pace.

“He’s . . . I mean . . . I’m needed in the future. I can’t retrieve him for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Steve you loved and lost. He can’t come out of the ice any earlier than he did. He needs to stay where he is . . . for the future to play out as it should.” Steve halted everything below the waist, which was not at all what Peggy wanted. “I know that’s the Steve you gave your heart to, but I can’t return him to you. I wish I could, but the world will need him more in the future than you need him now in the past. I’m sorry.”

She gaped at Steve, toggling between crying for him and slapping sense into him. She opted for doing neither. Leaning up, Peggy kissed him. “You big, stupid man.”

Steve frowned but pushed into her because he was still that obstinate Brooklyn kid who had once told her, “ _You start running they'll never let you stop. You stand up, push back.”_

“Waiting two years to come home didn’t make me love you less.”

“I didn’t want you to love me less. I just needed time for you to get the younger me a little out of your system so you would be willing to give the older me a chance.”

“Don’t you understand, my love. If not for your younger self, your older self would mean so much less to me. I hate the thought of you frozen and alone. I’ve tried not to think about it because knowing is painful.”

Steve nodded.

Peggy didn’t have to imagine how much more difficult it was for Steve to know where he could be found but do nothing to help his younger self.

“The future may need Captain America. But, darling, I have only ever needed Steve Rogers. That’s who traveled from 2023 to be with me. Thank you for making that choice.”

“I wanted to choose you the first time.” Lowering his head, he nipped her collarbone. “But I couldn’t. I’m sorry for leaving you alone. A second nip. “I’m sorry for being late.”

“You’re here now, Steve. That’s all that matters. We’ll have our dance . . . and so much more.” Peggy cupped his cheeks and lifted his head. “We’ll have a lifetime together.” She kissed him.

When Flynn had given Peggy Howard’s message: _"Agent Carter, it is my honor to inform you that you are going to run SHIELD and I'd also like to assist you in carrying your personal items down to your car."_

As she’d told Agent Flynn, she didn’t require his help. She never had. Her desk had contained only one item of importance. She looked at it every day, finding strength in a man who defied odds long before he met Dr. Erskine. Peggy would take the picture of Steve at basic training with her to DC, and wherever else her life would take her.

“I still have your compass.” As soon as she had returned home, she had placed the framed picture beside Steve’s compass. Both were safe in her nightstand drawer.

“I know you do. It’s broken, but it led me back to you, so it’s where it belongs.”

“Steve I . . .” Peggy closed her eyes, moaning when Steve hit the perfect spot inside her. They stopped talking, although their bodies still communicated in a gloriously primal way that had the bed shaking and Peggy hoarse and boneless.

Long minutes later, Steve flopped onto his back, chest heaving. “The room smells of sex.” He sniffed himself and then Peggy. “So do we. It’s my new favorite smell.”

“If I had a favorite scent, this wouldn’t be it.” Leaning onto an elbow and looking down at Steve, she added, “I do, however, have a new favorite taste.”

“Yeah, what's that?”

Peggy slunk down his body, wrapped her hand around his length and took him into her mouth, humming through his grunt of surprise.

“Okay, yeah, your new favorite taste. You c-can-mmm, shit, Peg. You can taste it all you like.”

She did.

He came.

They dozed on and off, Peggy’s head on Steve’s shoulder, his arms holding her close.

“How do you feel about DC?”

“Yes,” he blurted.

Peggy scanned Steve’s smiling face through half-open lids. “That's right, you were with Howard when he spoke with Flynn. I suppose my move to DC was also in that damn folder of yours.”

“That’s classified information, Director Carter.”

She smacked his chest. “Classified my arse. I’m officially asking. Will you join me in DC?”

“What if I have an official question I’d like to ask you? Do I need to wait until after we move to DC to pose it?”

“Perhaps after we’ve danced properly, my darling.” Peggy grinned up at Steve. “And bathed.” She kissed him.

“We’ve already danced, properly, if you ask me. But I’ll wait for the right time and place to ask my question.” Steve returned Peggy’s kiss. “What’s a little wait, when I’ve already found my right partner.” He rolled her over. “We have a lifetime ahead of us. Our love is infinite. Timeless. Perfect.”

Indeed it was.

“I love you, Steve.”

“I love you, Peggy.”

**NEXT: EPILOGUE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys. I hope the chapter was worth waiting for, a fulfilling interpretation to Steve and Peggy's post-Endgame reunion. As promised, I will write a little epilogue to close out the story.
> 
> Thanks for reading. A special thanks to those who've left comments. That extra effort means a lot.


	11. Epilogue: Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue is divided into two parts. Each covers a different story beat I wanted to create to end the story the way I intended from the beginning.

**EPILOGUE ONE**

_2014_

_Washington, DC_

“I don’t like it.”

“So, you’ve said, darling. Many times, in fact. My memory may be failing me, but I am still capable of recalling my husband’s ill-temper about an old argument. Now help me unpack, or do you intend to pout while I do all of the heavy lifting?”

That comment earned Peggy a too-familiar scowl. As of late, she saw less of her husband’s lovely smiles and more of his displeased frowns.

“You’re not funny, Peggy.”

Steve hefted a suitcase onto the bed, opened it, and began removing items. Peggy had no idea of the contents but trusted Sarah to have packed her essentials. While Peggy was somewhat capable of managing her home and personal needs, her daughter, like her husband and son, Harrison, felt a loving but annoying need to coddle. If she hadn’t put her foot down, every Carter in the DC, Maryland, and Virginia areas would’ve converged on the retirement facility, Peggy’s new home. Lord knows, only villains deserved that fate. Her and Steve’s children and grandchildren were bossy and critical at best, intimidating and exacting at worst.

She sighed when her bottom found the plush cushion of the chair. It wasn’t as comfortable as her old, broken-in La-Z-Boy at home, but it would do just fine.

“Humor wasn’t my intention, and do be careful with the family photos, Steve. I’ve had them for years.”

Sarah had selected well. Steve placed two framed photos on the table beside what was now Peggy’s bed. Both were black-and-white images of Peggy and her children when they were all much younger. Her hair, while still thick and healthy, had long since turned white. Considering her and Steve’s age, it would be strange for her to walk around with dark-brown locks and Steve with hair as blond as it had been when they’d first met. 

No, they were both too old to pretend otherwise. The clock couldn’t be reset, nor did Peggy wish it. She’d lived a good life, a happy and fulfilled life. Much of which she attributed to the silently seething man.

Steve had never been a difficult man to read and, after decades of marriage, there was little he could keep from Peggy. As she’d told him, Alzheimer’s may have slowly eroded her memory, leaving her confused at times, but the disease hadn’t stolen her mind quite yet. And, if she had any say, and Peggy feared she did not, the disease would never completely erase Steve Rogers from her thoughts.

Having no pictures of Steve in her room was a sacrifice she’d accepted when she had devised this plan. Sarah and Harrison may have known their father was Steve Rogers and had once been Captain America, but no one else in the family knew, not even Sharon, Michael’s great-granddaughter.

The shock and pleasure of learning her brother hadn’t been killed in the war, as everyone thought, but held as a Nazi POW, had long since faded. But not her gratitude to Steve for going into enemy territory and rescuing her brother. He hadn’t picked up the mantel of Captain America to complete the mission, though.

“I’m tired of fighting and wars, Peggy,” he’d told her as the opening to his marriage proposal. A strange way to begin a proposal for some, yet not for the life Steve had led or for the life Peggy had been still leading.

But, on occasion, and for the most sensitive and top secret of missions, Steve didn’t so much as come out of retirement but lend Peggy and SHIELD his unique skills—with only Howard and Phillips privy to the truth of who Director Carter’s husband truly was.

Her second suitcase joined the first on her bed, and Steve made short work of unpacking it.

“I’m not pleased either, but it must be done. You said it yourself, you waited two years before you could muster the courage to find and come see me. You needed to know that you hadn’t lost everyone to time.”

“I did say that but . . .” Head low, Steve crossed the room to where Peggy sat. Kneeling in front of her, weathered but still strong hands took hold of Peggy’s. “I didn’t know back then.”

“Know what?”

Ocean blue eyes she knew as well as her own, drifted to the framed pictures. “When I finally came here, I was desperate to see you but also afraid.”

They’d agreed, long ago, to leave Steve’s past and Peggy’s future, where they belonged. Too much information would do Peggy more harm than good, particularly about her final days. But there were a few topics they could not avoid. A young Steve not knowing the true identity of her husband was the most important of those topics.

“I missed everything. When I saw you . . .” Steve nodded to the bed. “I realized how much I had missed out on. I knew, intellectually, that I’d lost nearly seventy years, but seeing those same years on you was like being back in the ice—a shock to my system.” As he’d done many times over the years, Steve lifted her hands for his kiss. “When I see you now, knowing the life we’ve lived together, I see a woman who has lived her life to the fullest, most of it in service of people who will never know the depth of your work or your sacrifice in the name of freedom and peace. But, back then, all I could see was my loss, my regrets, and a Peggy Carter too old for us to begin over. I was later than I had ever been, and it hurt so damn much. But I was also so happy to see you, to know you not only survived but had thrived in a world still so foreign to me. Strangely, I thought you lived just for me. That you knew I would one day come looking for you, needing that push you were so good at giving me.”

“Come here, darling.”

Steve came, tucking his hands around Peggy’s waist and his head in the crook of her neck.

“That is precisely the reason why I must be in this nursing home. Part of your drive was your loss and self-doubt but also your hard-fought hope. Complacency doesn’t move mountains and defeat bullies. Fear, faith, and pain, Steve. You must experience all three for us to be where we are now, for you to take that leap and go back in time, for you to be selfish, just once, and not feel guilty about claiming something just for you.”

“I know,” he sniffed. “I do know, Peg. But I feel like I’m giving you to him when I need you the most.”

“This isn’t when you needed me the most.” Peggy lifted his face to hers, compelling Steve to look at her. “When your younger self comes to me in this room, that is when you needed me the most. You once told me the future needed Captain America more than my younger self did, so we had to let you sleep until the time came for you to help save the world. Listen to me now, Steve. Your younger self needs any version of Peggy Carter he can have more than you need your wife of six decades to be beside you upon waking. But you aren’t losing me, my darling.”

“The house won’t be the same without you. I haven’t slept alone in sixty-seven years. I’m spoiled.”

She kissed him. “Indeed, you are, but I won’t hold that character flaw against you. Besides, from your own account, you were too busy saving the world to visit as much as you would have liked. That will leave plenty of time for a husband to visit his wife. But do remind the children and grandchildren to call before stopping by. You mustn’t meet your future family.” Peggy kissed Steve again. “I am tempted, however, to have a talk with Sharon.”

As she knew he would, Steve winced. “Peggy, I . . .”

“I’ve never known whether I should be pleased you find the Carter women so attractive or angry on Sharon’s behalf because she reminded you of me.”

“Sharon did remind me of you. But that didn’t mean I didn’t also like her for herself.”

“I should bloody well hope that you did. Our niece is wonderful.”

“You promised to never bring that up.”

“Did I? Hmm, I don’t recall.”

“Don’t play the Alzheimer’s card. You know I don’t find that funny.”

“You’ve become a right stick in the mud, in your old age, Steve. Help me up. You promised me a dance. I haven’t forgotten that.”

“Peggy.”

“Oh, all right. After nine decades, one would think I could make a tasteless joke.” Peggy accepted Steve’s assistance to her feet. “I suppose not. Is the song on your phone?”

“I’ll pull it up on YouTube.”

“Ah, yes, a marvelous invention. Although, I won’t pretend to understand how someone becomes famous from talking about movies everyone has already seen. Where is the mystery in that?”

Steve laughed, the sound refreshing and unforgettable. He pulled her into his embrace, and she settled her head on his shoulder. “Sarah packed the red dress I bought you for last year’s anniversary. Wear it for me the next time I’m here?”

“Of course, darling. When will you visit me again?”

“Tomorrow. He can’t have you all to himself, Peg.” Lips lowered to the crown of her head and kissed. “I’ll be here every day. I won’t let you forget me.”

“I could never forget you, my love. Never.”

The hand at the small of her back left, and Steve used it to fish his cell phone from his pants pocket. Then he was gone completely, propping the phone on her dresser.

When Steve wrapped Peggy in his arms again, an act he’d done hundreds of times over the years, she knew this was where she should be, where their journey had taken them, and where it would end.

“Did Sarah remember to pack my copy of _Casablanca_?”

“She’s our daughter, what do you think?”

“Good. Hold me tighter, Steve, and sing to me.”

“I thought you said I had a terrible singing voice.”

“Oh, you most certainly do. Sing for me anyway.”

He held her tighter, closer. Peggy had discovered ages ago, that no matter how often they hugged, kissed, or made love, it was never quite enough. In some ways, they still ached for the time they’d lost, never quite able to fill the space of those missing years. A shame really, but they’d given it their best shot—Harrison and Sarah products of their many sweaty nights of glorious hedonism.

Peggy sighed and burrowed deeper into Steve’s embrace.

He kissed the top of her head again then began to sing.

An awful voice, indeed.

A beautiful song to be cherished.

A lifetime of happiness that could never be forgotten.

[“ ‘You must remember this:](https://youtu.be/Do2olZ49M54)  
A kiss is still a kiss,  
A sigh is just a sigh.  
The fundamental things apply  
As time goes by.  
  
And when two lovers woo  
They still say, "I love you."  
On that you can rely,  
No matter what the future brings.  
As time goes by.  
  
Moonlight and love songs: never out of date.  
Hearts full of passion, jealousy and hate.  
Woman needs man, and man must have his mate.  
That no one can deny.  
  
It's still the same old story.  
A fight for love and glory.  
A case of do-or-die.  
The world will always welcome lovers  
As time goes by.’ ”

* * *

**EPILOGUE TWO**

_2023_

_New York_

Wide-eyed, Steve stared at the old, black-and-white pic on the computer screen. When he’d begun his Internet search on Margaret “Peggy” Elizabeth Carter, he could not have imagined what he would discover.

Rubbing eyes that had been perfect since the serum, Steve stared at the image that hadn’t changed with his doubt. Peggy wore a gorgeous white lace and beaded wedding dress. Piles of dark hair were arranged prettily atop her head. A couple of strands artfully framed her smiling face. Peggy was a sight to behold in her wedding dress. Steve could drink in her youthful, happy image all day. He would’ve too, if not for the image of the tall, blond man in a tuxedo standing beside her, smile even wider than Peggy’s.

Himself.

What in the hell was going on there? Everyone knew Peggy had married a World War II vet. He’d seen the 1953 interview footage at the Smithsonian.

"That was a difficult winter. A blizzard had trapped half our battalion behind the German line. Steve . . . Captain Rogers, he fought his way through a HYDRA blockade that had pinned our allies down for months. He saved over a thousand men, including the man who would . . . who would become my husband as it turned out."

Steve remembered the mission, of course, but there had been a thousand men he’d freed from Hydra’s clutches. He couldn’t recall all their faces and most none of their names. Peggy hadn’t given the name of her husband during the interview, and she’d never said during any of his visits to her in the nursing home.

She’d never said, and Steve had staunchly refused to ask about her husband and children. It had been enough that she’d found love. But Steve had had no desire to pour salt in an open wound. He had found it strange, however, that he never saw any of her family at the nursing home when he’d visited. A part of him had also been angry that her grown children had left Peggy’s care to strangers, nice though the retirement facility had proven to be. Still, surely the care Peggy received in the nursing home could’ve also been given at her home or the home of one of her children.

Steve touched the screen, fingering the face of a man out of time. _I already went back for her? But when? How did I get Peg to marry me? What if I go back too soon or too late? Will I mess up our future? My past?_

Steve shook his head, the cyclical nature of the pieces he was putting together created a headache.

He printed Peggy’s wedding picture . . . _his_ wedding picture. Steve continued to search, surprised how much he found online about Peggy but not how little he found on her husband—including his name. Every legal document he tracked down contained only Peggy’s name. Despite the wedding pic, Carter appeared on every document. Hell, Steve didn’t recall seeing an older version of himself at Peggy’s funeral. Then again, he had been so overcome with grief that he barely paid attention to the other side of the church where Peggy’s family had been.

Even if Steve had seen a hundred-plus-year-old version of himself at the funeral, would he had even recognized himself? He wasn’t sure, but he’d like to think so.

Steve kept printing, even what could prove to be inconsequential files on Peggy.

He went to type in his next search when the camera on his laptop came to life, emitting a flash of light. His screen went black, and Steve jerked around. He was alone in the bedroom, as he’d been after saying goodnight to Bucky and retreating upstairs.

Steve turned back to the screen. What in the hell was going on? The camera flashed again. Steve blinked, his hand going up instinctively to cover his eyes.

“Damn, if she wasn’t right.”

That voice—arrogant and annoying.

Steve lowered his hand. His computer screen was no longer black but filled with the face of one Nick Fury.

“What are you doing?”

“The better question, Rogers, is what are you doing? You do realize that it is the height of stupidity to search for information on a spy, even a dead one, using the Internet. Nothing there is safe, unless you use the right channels, of course.”

“What are you talking about? Who was right? And about what?”

“You’re still a little slow on the uptake, Rogers, but you helped to save our asses with Thanos, and she believed in you.” Fury smirked, the gesture emphasizing the black eye patch he wore. “But I’d be damned if she wasn’t right. She said, “Nick, when Steve does something stupid, like searching for me in places he shouldn’t look, give him these files. They should be sufficient breadcrumbs to lead him home.”

“What?”

“I’m paraphrasing, of course, Rogers. It’s been over ten years since we had that conversation. It’s a real shame. Alzheimer’s is a disease no one deserves, especially someone with a mind like Director Carter’s.”

“Peggy?”

“Keep up.”

“Fury, if you don’t—”

“Calm down, Rogers. You did exactly what Carter told me you would do. She called me to the nursing home on one of her good days. He wasn’t there, and neither were you. Just as she planned.”

Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Not only had Fury hijacked his laptop, but all the information he’d found on Peggy had been generated by Peggy herself.

“Director Carter believed in you. She knew you would do what needed doing first.”

“Did she leave any other message for me?”

“What do I look like, Yahoomail?”

More like unsolicited email. “Did she?”

“Just one other. She said you would know what it meant.”

Fury paused for an unnecessarily long time, and Steve knew the man was fucking with him.

“She said, ‘better late than never, soldier.’ ”

Yeah, that was his Peggy. “Thank you.”

“Safe travels, Rogers. It has been an honor.”

His screen went black again. Fury was gone, but Peggy’s message remained. She wanted him to return home. That was good because Steve wanted the same.

For so long he thought he had lost her forever. When, in truth, Steve had been with Peggy the entire time. Her children and grandchildren were also his family. That World War II soldier she’d married had been him.

Steve grinned and glanced at the red vials of Pym Particles beside his laptop.

He would do as Peggy said.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that is it, Steggy fans. I took the perspective that Steve had always been Peggy's husband and that him returning to the past did not create an alternate timeline. I went with this perspective based on an interview given my the Russo brothers after Endgame released and the talk of Peggy and Steve's dance was everywhere on social media. For those of you who are interested, here is a link to the interview. https://youtu.be/99_MYD9b_zo
> 
> As always, comments and feedback are most welcomed. Thanks for reading.


End file.
